Crash and Burn
by tweedpants
Summary: Sam leaves for Stanford and is injured in an accident. Jessica contacts Dean without Sam's knowledge and while he gets on with his life it's not too long until Dean comes crashing back into it. AU/Drama/Humor - GEN.
1. Chapter 1

"The bus leaves in fifteen minutes," the overly cheery ticket lady with huge teeth and flaming red hair informed Sam while pushing the paper ticket through the slot below the bulletproof partition. Sam smiled and left the small building that was nothing more than an outhouse to make his way back to the car, gather up his belongings and wait out the fifteen minutes.

A leather satchel and a ratty old backpack held everything he owned and reaching into the backseat of the Impala to retrieve them Sam barely noticed his brother get out of the car as well. Standing up and seeing Dean with his arms on the roof of the car looking over at him was surprising. He had expected to be dropped off at the poor excuse for a bus depot in the middle of New Mexico, say a quick goodbye through a rolled down window and be off.

Dean had other ideas it seemed. An embarrassed smile slipped across his face as he looked around while a hand left the roof to scratch nervously at the back of his head. The place was obviously just a midway stop, a place to refuel. No major cities or landmarks anywhere close, the only reason to be here was to leave. And that was exactly what Sam Winchester was doing.

"Thanks," Sam said and it caught Dean's attention though he wasn't quite sure what Sam was saying thanks for. Raising him? Going above and beyond the call of big brother duties? Sacrificing his own childhood? Just understanding?

"You know, for the money." He let out a huff in way of a laugh and kind of wished that he'd just been dropped off so they could have avoided this awkwardness.

"Didn't want you hitchhiking all the way to California." Dean looked serious for a moment and it was true, he'd spent hours hustling pool to get some extra cash just so Sam could afford a bus ticket. He'd been hoping to get enough to buy a cheap car for him but somehow the money had gone to feeding his father's increased alcohol consumption. The serious look turned mischievous. "You never know what could happen to a girl like you."

Sam let out a genuine laugh and all the awkwardness seemed to vanish. But it didn't last long. Looking across the car at Dean he was reminded that this was it, the last goodbye.

Producing a small dagger from the inside pocket of his leather jacket Dean held it out to his younger brother. "Keep it in your sock. If anyone asks; you're Scottish okay?"

Sam looked at him sceptically but took the blade while looking around to check that no one had seen the arms exchange going on. Swinging his backpack down from his shoulder he bent down and opened it, stuffing the knife in and hoping that it didn't tear any of his clothes. He didn't have much to spare and the hobo look was so last season in his opinion.

"I'm going to college to get away from the fake IDs and crap Dean. I'm not going to spend my time at Stanford with a Glaswegian accent." Sam looked up at Dean as he came around the back of the car, kicking his feet into the sand and dirt before peering down at his crouched brother.

"I'm serious Sam, I want you safe."

Sam sighed. This was the problem that he had faced between his father and Dean. While his father dealt with the fear of losing Sam to the unknown with anger aimed at his youngest child, Dean was a little more practical. That scared him more than anything.

"I'll be safe." Sam stood, looking down into his brother's eyes and hoping Dean believed him. "I just want to be Sam Winchester, the civilian. No more depressing motel rooms, crappy diner food and no more hiding in bathrooms with homework to escape from my brother and the floozy he's brought back."

Dean had the audacity to look offended, a hand coming up to rest against his chest while his wide eyes and open mouth painted the picture of pure shock. Sam smiled at his brother, but there was a sadness in his eyes. He would miss him. Dean had been the only piece of stability in his shaky childhood. But that was why he was escaping wasn't it? For a life of stability?

"I'll call," Sam promised as the shocked look faded from his brother's face to be replaced by a sad smile that mirrored his own.

"No you won't Sammy." The elder of the two leaned back against the black car and looked to his foot as it dug around in the gravel before looking up at the child he'd raised towering above him. "You call if you need me. But you better not need me."

Sam smiled and nodded. He glanced down at his watch. Five minutes. Looking across to the one large coach that had been sitting empty since their arrival he noticed a few people starting to make their way on board.

"Listen Sammy," Dean paused to smile at the exasperated look he got at the use of that 'childish nickname'. "If you change your number or anything, let Pastor Jim or Bobby know okay? After all it's only a matter of time before I'm gonna need to call on a hot-shot lawyer to bail me out."

Four days later as Sam traversed the Stanford campus, looking up at the buildings that surrounded him he was knocked off balance by a skateboarder and dropped half of the papers he'd been trying to sort into a manageable pile. Bending down to gather the flimsy pages that mapped out his future a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Dude, you better not let campus police catch you with that thing."

Sam looked up to see a friendly face looking down at him with one hand gesturing to his ankle. His jeans had ridden up to reveal the parting gift from his brother to the whole world.

"It's a sgian dub," Sam said as a way of explanation but by the blank look on the face of his companion it hadn't been a very good one. "My family's Scottish, it's a traditional thing."

The heat in Texas was unreal Dean mused to himself as he walked from the air-conditioned goodness of the diner to the mid-day heat of Clifton TX. The job had been pretty straight forward; vengeful spirit, scared family, Winchester to the rescue. The only problem was the spirit of Mr. Bell had decided that of all Dean's possessions to throw around he'd picked his cell phone. They hadn't even been invented when he'd met his demise the first time so no doubt he took a dislike to the new fangled machine with all its interesting pressy buttons. Asshole.

Luckily Dean had been able to salvage the sim card from the wreckage that he'd left the Dobson's family home in. Now all he had to do was shove the sim card into one of the many other cell phones that littered the glove compartment of his precious Impala.

When the new phone beeped into life it soon gave another half-hearted beep to signal a new voicemail message. No doubt the good Pastor checking in to make sure the job was done. The same old thing, 'I would have done it myself but…' the excuses never really registered anymore. He knew it wouldn't be his father as they were due to meet up for a job in Arkansas in four days. Just enough time to drive there and then lay low with some good beer and even better sex.

Very few people had his cell number; in fact Dean could count them on one hand. Even with a couple of missing fingers. The only person that had the number besides his father and _the_ Father was his brother. Luckily he hadn't heard from his brother since he saw him off to Stanford and that had been close to a year ago.

The autonomic voice from his cell was cut off by a young woman speaking. Not his brother. At least not how he remembered his brother, and now he would be forever haunted by the image of his brother with breasts. Fantastic. His rather disturbing thoughts were broken by the feminine voice.

_Accident._

Sam had been in an accident.

_He said not to call but I thought I should let you know. _

Dean silently begged for more information but it wasn't forthcoming, chatter and clattering noise coming through the phone in place of her soft voice for a few moments before it came back giving a phone number that was definitely not his little brother's.

_My name's Jessica by the way_.

The message ended and Dean kept the cell phone stuck to his ear.

He said not to call. That meant he'd said something so it couldn't be too bad but Dean replayed the message and took down the number on the back of a receipt which he should have thrown out weeks ago.

His plan for the day was to check out of the motel and start the journey to Arkansas but that was all changed when he settled down on the double bed of his motel room and carefully punched in the number from the receipt.

The girl, Jessica her name is Jessica, answered after six rings but Dean could swear it was more like eighteen.

"Jessica? It's Dean Winchester." Well didn't that just sound stupid? "Sam's brother." Why stop there? She knows who you are doofus. His name sounded like a sigh when it filtered through the phoneline. Relief. He'd rarely heard his name sound like that, only Sam had said it similarly in his youth, a scared child comforted by the presence of his big brother.

Dean was not comforted by Jessica.

_We were driving back from a 4th of July party… Drunk driver… Car totaled… Just a broken arm and scratches but Sam…_

The silence that came after caused Dean to grip the phone tightly, willing her to continue but dreading what he'd hear. But he said not to call. He's fine. She's just being a drama queen. Bloody women. Then a thought hit him, looking to the bedside table he picked up the invoice he'd been given by the motel clerk. He had checked in two days ago and by the date on the invoice that made it July 27th. So either someone was having a really late Fourth of July or Sam was still in hospital after three weeks.

_They're releasing him to a rehab facility in a few days and I know he said not to call you but I thought I should let you know._

"Wait what?" Dean's hand flew up to scratch his head, he'd obviously missed something. "Rehab?"

Two hours into the drive to California Dean remembered he was heading the wrong way.

_Arkansas is the other way you idiot._

Then it hit him, he wasn't going to meet up with his father, and just what was he going to tell him? Because he sure as hell wasn't telling him Sam had been in an accident and he'd…

_He's fine, he said not to call._

The whole idea of it was almost funny, Sam escaping the life of a hunter, being safe and he ends up like this. Dean knew he couldn't tell his father, if Sam didn't even want him contacted what right did Dean have to prove his father right? Sam hadn't been safe. The real world got the best of him.

Six hours in and Dean had come to the sudden realization that he had a stomach. Even more frightening was the sudden remembrance of his bladder, and it was that realisation that had him skidding the Impala to a halt at the side of a deserted road and diving for the nearest bush.

Bladder sated he made his way back to the car, it'd been a while since he'd passed by anything resembling a town so logic states he must be overdue. Next town is foodtown.

But first…

Dean sat back down in the Impala, reached over and grabbed his phone. The signal wasn't great but it was enough to make a call and he started scrolling through his contacts to find his father's number. He didn't pick up which was unusual but not alarming and soon the incessant ringing was replaced by his father's voice urging him to leave a message.

"Hey Dad, not gonna make it to Arkansas something has come up in California. Gonna stop in on Sammy while I'm out there."

Never lie. That was one thing that had been beaten into him ever since his father took up a crusade against the nasty-night-bumpers of the world. Something had come up and he was going to see Sam. Never lie to your father.

Dean's stomach growled in hunger and reminded him it was time to get going. Judging by how much gas he had left in the tank and the noises his body was making he really needed to get the hell away from the butt-crack of nowhere.

_Time to find civilization._

When he was about an hour away from Palo Alto Dean reached over for his phone, slightly amazed that it still had any battery. Flicking his attention between the packed road full of early morning rush hour traffic to see if the car in front had moved any and the phone, he managed to find the girl's - Jessica's - number and call.

A sleepy mumble was his greeting and a hushed 'I'm just gonna take this outside, I'll be back' which was aimed at someone at her end. Sam. A few rustling seconds passed and the sleepy mumble is replaced with her soft voice.

_Hey Dean._

Dean tries to picture her, tries to imagine Sam's type, which is quite hard to do when he has absolutely no reference. Sam was much more interested in books than girls - so much so that Dean had often teased him that he had a thing for the old librarian that seemed to inhabit every town, all grey hair and tweed.

But Jessica? Young, pretty in a plain kind of way and definitely brunette. Studious like Sam, shy and a bit frigid. Yep that'd be Sam's type.

"I'm not too far away, where am I heading?" Dean asked expecting to be given directions to the so-called 'rehab facility'.

_I could do with coffee, there's a Starbucks nearby._

College students and their Starbucks, Dean could barely refrain from rolling his eyes but still took a mental note of the directions she gave. "I'll see you soon."

When he saw the sign in the distance Dean scanned the area for somewhere to park, and by the time he found a spot he'd driven by the coffee shop. The heat wasn't as oppressive as it was in Texas but it was hardly a day for his leather jacket and Dean actually wished he'd bothered to get a motel room somewhere along the way instead of just pulling over and sleeping in the backseat because he'd been wearing the same clothes for what felt like days and was pretty sure he smelled like crap. A quick sniff in the direction of an armpit confirmed this so he leaned down to his bag which had made it onto the floor of the passenger side and pulled out a fresher t-shirt, it's not exactly clean but none of his clothes are and this one doesn't smell quite so much like a public toilet. Digging around in the bag a little more he found an aerosol can of deodorant which he sprayed on himself until he was choking in the confined space and scrambling for the door handle and blessed fresh air.

The two minute walk back up the street to the coffee shop had Dean scanning the people milling around outside, looking for the demure brunette he was sure was Sam's girl. There were a couple of candidates but they were all standing in a huddle together, sipping caramel colored concoctions through straws. And then there was one, a petite dark haired girl in a hooded sweatshirt a few sizes too big swirling a wooden stick around her coffee cup while looking around as though trying to spot someone.

_Bingo._

Dean made his way over, passing by a couple of tables that sat on the sidewalk and he was just about to tap the girl on her shoulder as she looked out in the other direction when he heard his name.

"Dean?" And it was her, Jessica and she was behind him.

Turning around he saw what was definitely not what he'd pictured being his brother's type. Blonde, leggy in a short denim skirt and good Lord Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone as hot as her. She's sitting at one of the tables he walked past so he made his way over and sat opposite her.

"I thought it was you." She smiled and Dean thought he might hate his baby brother a little for snagging this one. "I don't know how, it's not like I've ever seen a picture of you or anything and Sam doesn't really talk much about his family but you just looked like-" Jessica gave up on her ramble and shook her head along with a huff of laughter. "Sorry."

Dean smiled back at her, maybe she was more of Sam's type than he'd thought and it was then that he noticed the cast on her arm and he was painfully reminded of the reason he was there.

"So what happened?" Dean asked and hoped he could actually listen this time, when he'd first heard it over the phone all he'd heard were disjointed statements, the moment he processed one piece of information another was flying at him. 4th of July. Drunk driver. Broken arm. But Sam…

Jessica took a long sip of her coffee and sighed, her brow knitted together and Dean just knew that she was trying to figure out where to start. "My parents live quite nearby, I'm kind of a local girl. So we go to their 4th of July barbecue and when we're driving back this idiot drunk driver smashes into us." Jessica took another sip and Dean tried to imagine Sam at a family BBQ. "The car flipped like six times or something, I was screaming and the car was making these noises. It was like it was just crumpling. Stupid cheap cars." She muttered and Dean smiled, his girl would never just crumple, she was a good girl.

"I was freaking out, screaming and crying and Sam was just-" Jessica paused and wiped her non-casted hand across her face for a moment. "He was so fucking calm. I'm screaming that my arm hurts and trying to get out of a door that is so fucking warped it won't open and he's just asking me if I can reach my phone like we're just sitting on the couch or something. I got so pissed off at him." Jessica laughed and Dean looked confused. "People aren't supposed to be calm in a car crash, I spazzed out like any normal person would. Sam just sat there not moving and trying to hold a fucking conversation. But thinking about it I am so fucking glad he didn't freak out like me."

Jessica didn't speak for a minute, just looked down into her paper cup.

"I'm going to go get a drink, you want a refill?" Dean asked getting up. Jessica smiled up at him and nodded as she picked up her cup and drank the dregs still left in the cup.

While Dean stood in line he realized he had no clue what she wanted, so he ordered a cappuccino along with his black coffee.

"Sorry, forgot to ask what you drank," Dean apologized as he set the cup down in front of her. Taking the lid off the cup she looked down into the foam.

"This is fine, thanks."

The silence stretched out as the two sat sipping on their coffee. When the blonde finally spoke again her voice startled Dean slightly. "The emergency services arrived pretty quick, had to cut the doors off so I could get out. It took me a while to notice that Sam was still in there. They'd cut the door off on his side as well and I just couldn't understand why he wasn't standing next to me. They made me go in an ambulance to go get my arm taken care of and I still had no idea what was going on.

"It was hours, honestly, hours. I hung around waiting for doctors, then x-rays, then doctors again, then to get my cast. Every time I saw a nurse or a doctor or anyone that looked like they worked in the hospital I would ask about Sam. Eventually someone found out he'd been taken somewhere else, somewhere with a better trauma center.

"My Dad came and got me, took me to the hospital Sam was at. They'd been trying to get someone for him for a while and seemed relieved when I showed up. Told me he broke a few bones in his back and was in surgery. That was it." Jessica shrugged and looked Dean in the eye. "It didn't even sink in how serious it could be. He was in surgery. They were fixing what was wrong. That's how I thought of it, so I waited for someone to tell me I could see him."

Dean looked over at the petite brunette in the sweatshirt who was still standing near the door looking around at the crowds moving around the sidewalk. Poor thing had been ditched.

"My arm hurt like crazy so I went down to the pharmacy to get my prescription filled for painkillers. When I got back the doctor was waiting for me, she had this horrible practiced look of mourning on her face and said 'we tried everything we could, I'm so sorry' and I swear to God I nearly lost it, and I never thought I'd be so relieved to hear that someone would never walk again. When she said he was paralyzed I almost wept with joy. Sick or what?"

She snorted and Dean thought about it for a moment, and really didn't know if he'd have reacted the same way. What if he'd been given that choice; walking or living? Logically he knew that if he were dead he sure wasn't gonna be walking about - at least he hoped not.

"How'd he take it?" Dean asked, curious because he sure didn't know how he would take news like that.

"Fine." The blonde shrugged. "Said he'd kinda figured that out in the car. And then I got pissed off at him for being calm again. Has he always been like that?" Jessica asked, her face scrunched up as if she were about to cry.

"Freaking out isn't really a Winchester trait," Dean smirked. "But Sammy had a few princess moments when he was a kid. I left his favorite stuffed toy in a motel once and he cried for three days. We ended up just going back and getting it. Fucking stuffed armadillo."

Jessica laughed at this and wondered why Sam was always so distant with and about his family."Well now he's just princessing about getting well enough for the start of school."

"Typical geekboy."

"Are you going to come visit him?" Jessica asked but kept her head bowed down, finding her nearly empty coffee cup suddenly fascinating.

"Does he even know you called?" Jessica continued to find the left over coffee amazing and didn't take her eyes off it when she shook her head. "He'll just get pissy and that'll cause issues. We have a fucked up family. He's in safe hands here so just keep me updated."

Jessica looked up then, lips pursed and nodded. "I'll email you, you have an email address?" she asked and leant over to dig through a large handbag.

"Nah, just text me or something. Even if it's just stupid shit, keep me in the loop okay?" Dean got up and Jessica followed his movements as he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to say goodbye.

Taking the lead, she leaned over to hug the elder Winchester. "It was really nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Bye Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

_Drunken idiot off to Big House. Trying to make Sam sue the pants off him._

_Looking for new student accomm for Sam._

A couple of weeks after he got this message Pastor Jim called to give him a new address for Sam and he said something about new term changes. If only the good Father knew.

_Sam getting outta rehab next week. _

_Sam's first day of school. Feel like proud mamma._

This made him smile, receiving this message so soon after the last.

_Got a flat tire._

Dean wasn't quite sure why he got that one but it was the best message he could have received in the situation. He'd finally caught up with his father for a hunt in Wyoming. When John had asked who was on the phone when it beeped, stalling his rapid fall into slumber. Dean hadn't even thought before responding.

"Jessica."

"Who's Jessica?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A girl I met in California couple of months back." Don't lie. Never lie.

"What does she want?"

"Nothing. Just got a flat tire."

John humphed and rolled over on the motel bed a couple of feet away and never asked about her again.

Dean didn't hear anything for weeks, it was approaching Thanksgiving when out of the blue Dean returned to his dingy motel room to see his phone lit up with the notification of a new voicemail message and was shocked to hear Jessica's voice. Of course it started with a sigh and Dead settled back against the headboard to listen.

_I'm worried about him. He's fine really, but it's like he's having a harder time dealing with other people dealing. You know? _

Dean could imagine. It was one of the reasons he'd let Sam be, it was bad enough learning to deal with only half your body working properly never mind having to placate worried family and friends.

_All they want to do is help but they don't know how and so they are doing this overbearing hovery thing and just always asking if he's okay, if he needs to talk, if he needs help. It pisses me off and I'm not on the receiving end of it. But he's Sam so he is nice about it and doesn't tell anyone to fuck off. I really wish he would. He practically gets escorted everywhere._

Dean kept listening and almost found himself laughing as her voice got louder.

_He'll go back to his dorm after class and bring half the class with him! I was waiting for him the other day after a Physio session and there were two guys from his sociology class in the reception waiting for him too. Just to make sure he got home okay! And it might be okay if they left, but they don't! Because Sam Winchester is too fucking nice, so he invites them in and then they start watching TV, playing Xbox, annoying the hell out of me because all I want is to maybe be alone with my boyfriend. _

Dean listened to the harsh, irritated breathing and wondered how long it would be before she gets cut off.

_Sorry. Just needed to vent._

And that was that.

Now Dean was worried a little about her, it was obvious that the reason she called him, the absent brother, was that she didn't have anyone else. It's hard to find someone that will understand that all these people being nice to her newly disabled boyfriend was driving her crazy. So maybe she didn't want someone to talk to about what was bothering her, she just wanted someone to listen. And if that someone just happened to be Dean's voicemail, well he was okay with that.

The messages and voicemails came intermittently, a message was generally an update of some kind, just little things that made Dean feel like he was still looking out for his brother somehow.

_Got a settlement from the drunken idiot. I am now only with Sam for the money._

The voicemails, while informative for Dean he realized early on that they were purely for Jessica's benefit.

_It's a conspiracy. I swear they must have bugged him somehow. We're grocery shopping, I'm trying to decide whether penne or farfalle will be better while he's looking at the pasta sauces. All he said was 'Jess can you-' and there were six of them! Six! All around him in seconds. What do you need? Can I get that for you? It's an audacity that they keep these things so high up. And these are complete strangers! At least his friends have calmed down a little. A little._

Dean was regaled with stories of these friends, these normal people who never learned to handle weapons for survival at the age of six, or hustle pool at ten, drive at eleven, change school every few weeks or get 'home schooled' for months at a time, which essentially just consisted of their father leaving books around and checking in every so often. No, these kids didn't know of anything like that, maybe they didn't all have the perfect childhood but they had a childhood. And now their worries were papers and tests and the latest gadget that they'd look like a complete idiot without. No worrying about the monsters and ghouls lurking in the night. Not even Sam would be worrying about that now, a part of his life pushed to the back of his mind as a distant memory of what used to be.

So Dean got hours worth of messages, bitching about Lukas and Phil and Mario and countless other names that he stored away, actions to names instead of faces. He heard stories of X-boxes and soccer matches, cooking gone wrong and the embarrassing things said, done, heard. Dean sent a silent 'thank you' to Jessica each time there was a new message. Each one like a postcard from his brother's trip into normalcy.

Even when Dean saw Jessica calling he never answered, just letting it ring out until it goes to voicemail. He never called or returned a message - not even when he got a flat tire. It wasn't until near the end of the academic year that he called her, when he listened to her frantic voice on a voicemail left in the early hours.

_I'm at the hospital, God it's awful._

Dean heard her take a few shuddering breaths and the sound of sirens close by indicated that she was standing somewhere outside.

_His knees hurt. His fucking knees hurt. Do you know how ridiculous that is? He's in absolute agony and they can't do a fucking thing because the pain isn't real. It's all in his head or something. The only thing they can do is knock him out, and if the pain continues they might have to see about more extreme measures._

She spit the last part into the phone and hung up. Dean was shocked still for a moment, he brought the phone down from his ear and just stared. It was mid-morning where he was so it must have been coming up on 8am for them so he pushed a button to return the call and waited. There was no answer and he never bothered to leave a message, just prayed that she'd call back.

And she did, two days later. Eighteen hours after Dean left in the middle of a hunt in New Hampshire because he'd called 31 times and never heard a response. And he barely heard the phone ringing over the rumble of the engine as he gunned it to California. Dean turned the wheel sharply and bumped off the road onto a dirt track along the roadside, he quickly pulled in and grabbed the phone.

"What the fuck happened?" he growled into the phone.

_He's fine, they're releasing him in a couple of hours._

"Again. What the fuck happened?"

_He'd been weird all night, said he didn't feel good, took some painkillers and went to bed. A few hours later I'm getting woken up by this screaming banshee beside me. I called an ambulance and the doctors said it was phantom pain. It happens, they don't know what causes it and there's nothing they can do. They couldn't give him anything for the pain because there was no pain. _

"He's okay now?"

_I guess, he says he is. But he keeps rubbing his knees like they ache or something. He says he's not in pain though._

Yeah, like the time he had broken his wrist and hid it for three days. He wasn't in pain then either. Not even when Dean finally caught him in the bathroom trying to reduce the swelling with an ice cold shower, tears streaming down his pudgy nine year old face.

"Alright. Thanks for letting me know."

Dean hung up the phone and just sat there. What the hell was he doing anyway? Was he just going to barge into a hospital room and rat out Sam's girlfriend? _Yeah man she told on you, she told on you good_. Growling low in his throat Dean put the car in gear and drove back the way he came. Poltergeist beware. "I'm gonna gank you so hard you'll still be wondering what the hell ganking is when you've been ganked."

And gank he does - with gusto.

A big thank you to all of you who took the time to review. And of course the biggest thank you has to go to Miranda Quick who beta'd this chapter so well.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days after he was supposed to meet his father in Prescott, AZ Dean started to worry. The Jericho job shouldn't have taken as long as his father was taking. Unless of course his father had been distracted by Las Vegas on the drive down - it wouldn't have been the first time. But that didn't explain why he hadn't been answering his phone.

Two days stretched into two weeks and Dean was still stuck in Prescott with radio silence from his father. Jim hadn't heard anything but didn't seem all that worried, after all it was not the first time John Winchester had gone MIA (and as Jim put it 'at least this time I'm not left with two bratty kids'). Cole hadn't seen him since that demon possession in La Junta, Terry since Bloomfield, Muller since Norton and Sal and Forssell since the aptly named Spirit Lake. They all had said roughly the same thing.

_Don't worry kid, he'll show up when he remembers his own name. _

Then of course, as a last resort he'd called Bobby Singer, who had a few choice words to say about the eldest Winchester but hadn't seen him in two years. Not since before Sam left for college. After all it was Bobby who'd threatened to shoot his old man if the stubborn ass didn't stop screaming at Sam about duty and responsibility and _the thing that killed your mother_.

So Dean started to consider his options, he could wait around Arizona for another couple of weeks, he could start looking for another hunt or he could head up to Jericho and look for signs of his father. The decision was pretty much made for him when he received an EVP laden phone call from his father.

It took all of ten minutes and Dean was peeling out of the crummy motel parking lot that he'd been calling home for the past couple of weeks. Far too long for his liking, he liked to be unnoticed, it's wasn't very good when you try and question a guy pretending to be from the CDC or the FBI if they've seen you wandering around town or hustling pool and not in your snazzy government suit.

Dean crossed over into California for the first time since he'd met with Jess and he found himself thankful that it was a whole lot cooler than it had been the last time. It had been over a year and Autumn was in full effect. At least this time he wouldn't be smelling like a jockstrap when he reached his destination. Exits came and went as he kept heading north to Jericho but when he saw that first sign for Palo Alto a jolt went through him, it wasn't worry or anxiety but a need. He needed to see Sam. He needed to tell him their father had gone missing, and not the missing that has him staggering in at 'some point', but well and truly vanished off the face of the earth missing.

It was another new address this year, once again passed on by the good Father. Dean didn't have a clue where he was going, he thought for a moment that maybe GPS would have been a good investment, but his car was a classic and the new technology might have hurt her feelings just a little. Aimlessly he turned down another street, then another, then another and somehow found himself cruising by the student services building. Luck finally on his side Dean pulled over and jumped out into the dimming light of day turning to night.

He emerged ten minutes later with directions and the instruction that he really needed to get a GPS system and that his car will only be hurt if he threatened to replace her and not his map unless of course he was really attached to the map as well. He wasn't quite sure if the girl was making fun of him or not.

Dean climbed back into the car and turned back the way he had came and as per the directions, took the umpteenth right and parked in the parking lot 'that should be right in front of you'.

"Two-oh-six, two-oh-six, two-oh-six," Dean muttered the entire way into the building as if he was going to forget which door he was looking for. There were a few people milling about and Dean flagged one down to ask where the hell he was supposed to go to find the oh so important two-oh-six and he was told very helpfully that it just happened to be on the second floor. Like he couldn't work that one out on his own. He spotted a bank of elevators and headed that way in lieu of trying to find stairs.

The second floor was like a carbon copy of the ground floor so Dean made his way over to a group of couches where some people sat hunched over a table, cards in hand. "206?" he asked and was answered by a head gesturing vaguely towards a corridor to the right of the elevators.

Dean searched the doors that lined the corridor for the elusive 206, and unsurprisingly found it nestled between 205 and 207 - who would have ever thought? And he was knocking before even thinking about it, the noise of his knuckles connecting with the wood echoed around him as he was about to come face to face with his brother only when the door opened it was to reveal dark curly hair, brown eyes and very not Sam.

"Um, looking for my brother," Dean said lamely looking up at the slightly taller guy who was just barely sticking his head out of a crack in the door. "Sam Winchester?"

"Your brother?" the guy asked as though the whole sibling concept was completely foreign to him along with his accent, he was certainly not American in any sense.

Before the tall curly haired one could say any more an all too familiar voice said his name and tall, dark and dear God handsome was being shoved out of the way and replaced by a small blonde hot chick. "What are you doing here?"

Dean silently thanked whoever had blessed him with the ability of quick thinking and bullshittery before he answered. "Family drama, figured now was as good a time as any to catch up with Sam."

Jessica nodded in thought for a moment before she shrugged. "He's at the library, got a paper due so he wont be back until late. I'm just here because I've got an early class and I can't be bothered going home. Do you wanna wait here?"

Dean considered that for a moment, but shook his head with a smirk. "Nah, he won't be able to yell at me in a library without getting shushed."

"Do you need directions to the library? I think he's at the law library over by the law school." Jess said as though Dean would know exactly where that was.

Before Dean could answer the guy who'd opened the door spoke up. "Jess, I'm heading out for beer before I go to Mario's, I can point him in the right direction."

"Thanks Mat," the blonde looked back into the room and saw the tall brunette shoving his feet into well worn tennis shoes.

"Yeah, thanks Mat," Dean mocked with a smirk at Jessica.

Mat brushed past the two of them and smirked back at the elder man. "Kein problem leute."

Dean shrugged at Jessica and followed Mat out, secretly wondering what he'd just been called. When they'd reached the main entrance to the building and no directions had been forthcoming Dean took point and led them towards the impala.

"I'll give you a ride to the shop - just give me directions from there," the smirking twat could walk back.

The ride was as quiet as the rest of their brief time together until Mat let out a cough before he looked over at Dean a little nervously. "So you're Sam's older brother?" At Dean's vague noise in the affirmative he nodded. "He doesn't talk about you much, just that you and your father travel all over the place, salesmen or something."

'Traveling salesmen, good one Sammy,' Dean thought but just made another vague noise indicating the traveling salesmen story to be true. Mat nodded again but kept quiet apart from the occasional 'left' or 'right'.

When the car approached a brightly lit area full of store fronts Dean noticed the sign for a Chinese takeout and his stomach chose that moment to remind him that it was almost 7pm and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. The two men exited the car and headed in the direction of the shops, Mat stopped just before the entrance of the mini-mart.

"The law library is just around the other side of student services, so just head back the way we came and-"

"I know where it is thanks," Dean interrupted and walked off in the direction of the Chinese takeout.

The sun had long set and the sky was a murky blue when Dean found the library he had been looking for. The pathway to the entrance was illuminated by a speckling of streetlights. Dean pulled the door open and took in the building, to his right was a ramp leading up and off into a sea of bookshelves, to the left a corridor proclaiming 'restrooms this way', and straight ahead was a small set of stairs where the library really opened up into a wide open space. Further back though was a large bank of desks, computers and Sam Winchester.

Facing the door, his face smushed into the fist that was holding his head up as he looked between book, computer screen and notepad. Dean took a while to study his younger brother before he was noticed. He looked…healthy. He was not the same gangly limbed kid that could hunt and track with grace through the roughest terrain but trip over his own feet just walking down the street. He was not the 18 going on 60 year old that he'd been back at that bus station.

_But he's chosen to keep that stupid haircut that makes him look like a boyband reject._

His hunter honed senses were as sharp as ever, his head snapped up as soon as he heard the rustling of the plastic bag that unknown to him held his dinner. Dean smirked, the look on his younger brother's face was exactly the same as it was when he was caught looking at porn in one of the seedier motels of their youth - a mix of horror, looking for an escape route and expecting an ambush. Dean's smirk turned into a grin when he moved closer, seeing the red mark on Sam's face, a perfect impression of his fist.

"Dean, what the, I mean wha-" Sam stuttered.

"Brought dinner," Dean said helpfully, raising the bag before he plopped it down on the table and pulled out the chair that sat opposite his brother and plopped down himself. No trace of the smooth, honed hunter skills that he possessed.

Dean arranged cardboard containers on the table in front of his dumbfounded brother like they had been transported back four years and they'd never been apart. Dean however did grow tired of being in the company of his suddenly catatonic brother, so as he finished opening his container of chow mein he picked up a set of chopsticks, tapped them against the container in front of his brother before throwing them at him.

Getting the hint, Sam picked up the utensils that had bounced down onto the table. "What are you doing here?" he asked, regaining the power of speech while he unwrapped a container.

"Dad's gone AWOL."

All this statement garnered was an incredulous look that seemed foreign on Sam's face. Dean couldn't remember that face and wondered when it developed. "It's not like he's never disappeared before Dean."

Dean nodded, but he was really getting sick of the same reaction to his worries. "I got a voicemail from him yesterday," he said, putting down his chopsticks.

Sam looked irritated more than anything as he watched Dean pull a cellphone from his leather jacket. "This isn't my problem Dean."

Dean continued on, he took a moment to press some buttons then placed the device on the table between them.

John's voice rang out, loud in the relative quiet of the library. Sam couldn't help but tense slightly at the sound. Not willing to admit whether it was the volume or the speaker that caused it. Sam did however notice the distortion on the line.

_Something is starting to happen, I think it's serious. I need to figure out what's going on. Be very careful. We're all in danger._

"Now I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you are included in that 'we'," Dean said as he leant forward with an elbow on each side of his chow mein. "So I think this very well could be your problem."

"There's EVP on that," Sam said distractedly, all his attention focused on the inanimate object that lay between them.

"Well done college boy. Some woman ghosty saying she can't go home. Dad was supposed to meet me after he got done with a job in Jericho two weeks ago."

"Okay, but why are you here and not there?"

Dean didn't answer. Picked up the phone and put it back into his jacket pocket before he picked up his chopsticks and started eating again all while Sam had continued to stare. "Because I need your help," he said eventually.

Sam looked shocked, nervous, escape route, ambush, caught. "Dean, I'm not, I've, I can't-"

Dean had rolled his eyes and took a little pity on his poor stuttering brother. "So, hot blonde you've got. How'd you manage that one?"

Sam took a moment to impersonate a guppy, mouth opening and closing, eyes bugged out. "Jess? When did you meet Jess?"

"Few weeks after that car accident of yours," Dean shrugged, then looked to Sam's new impersonation of a guppy on speed while he tried to eat noodles, Dean burst out into laughter. "Dude shut your mouth, spit out the food or just chew but stop with the idiotic look."

Dean was pretty sure everyone within a three block radius had heard the gulp his brother made in an attempt to swallow all that was half in and half out of his mouth in one go. It worked, kind of, until the chocking had started. Great big heaving hacks that left him nearly sprawled across the table. Dean simply laughed until he was just as breathless.

"She called, we met, and I've had her secretly spying on you since."

"You're an ass."

"Nah, if I was an ass I'd have strung you along for longer," Dean smirked, too afraid to start laughing again in fear that he'd have never been able to stop. "Could have been worse, I could have tried to make you stand up and hug me."

Sam had noticed something flash behind his brother's humor laden eyes for a brief moment, something he had become all too familiar with. He still hasn't been able to place the exact emotion; it's not exactly pity, there's a hint of regret there, some sadness and a bit of uncertainty. He has become well versed on that flash, always when someone has said something that could be misconstrued or might hurt his delicate feelings. "I'd have known for sure something was up then. Dean Winchester wanting a cuddle."

The two had smiled at each other before beginning to eat again in comfortable silence, vague clacking of fingers on keyboards from the other students that were littered around the library. Awkwardness gone it had really been like being back in their teens.

"Are you keeping safe here?" Dean asked out of the blue.

Sam's brows knitted together in confusion for a moment before a lazy smile started to spread. "Are you asking about my sex life?"

This time it was Dean's turn to splutter his noodles. "I'm eating man!"

Sam just laughed a moment and then turned a little more serious some seconds later. "I keep salt lines around the windows but Jess get's pretty annoyed. She's the only one that really tidies up after me and my roommate, every time she dusts I have to put them back and she can't quite figure out why. I've not figured out a good reason to give her."

"Can't exactly tell the truth, she's too normal."

"Which I like, I like normal. I wanted normal."

"But normal makes you feel like even more of a freak?"

"Yeah."

"You are a freak."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Both smiled at the exchange. Like nothing had ever changed. When Sam picked up a napkin to wipe at his mouth then threw it on the table before backing up and revealing his lower half from beneath the table, wheels and all, it was suddenly all too clear that everything had changed.

**Just a little side note: every originally named character is named after a football player. It's like my own little game of 'spot the reference'. **

**I can't be sure when the next chapter will be up, I have a couple of busy weeks ahead (off to Madrid for the Champions League final to support my team, then i'll be getting ready to go to Egypt on holiday for two weeks of doing nothing - with some interruptions in the form of World Cup games, but I'm sure i'll be using the downtime to write. I'm just not entirely sure if I will have much of an internet connection).**

**Once again thanks again to the wonderful Miranda Quick for her beta-ing work.**


	4. Chapter 4

"So you can't feel anything then?" Dean had finally asked and Sam's mouth opened immediately to answer then snapped shut. His face then proceeded to try out for the Olympic gymnastics team, brows furrowing then lifting as he again made as if to speak before his brows came crashing down once more under the heavy weight of the thoughts running through his mind - Alexei Nemov had nothing on Sam's face at that moment. "Dude it's like a yes or no question."

"It's complicated," Sam finally said.

"This fancy education and you can't tell 'yes', 'no' and 'it's complicated' apart, are you sure Stanford isn't some kind of special school?"

Sam gave his brother a withering look before he tried to explain, it wasn't the first time he'd been through this but each time the words seemed to elude him. "When I broke my back my spinal cord was kinda crushed so it wasn't completely severed or anything but it was damaged so signals don't really pass through the bit where it was crushed very well." Sam looked at his brother who nodded for him to go on but he didn't.

"Sam that answered a grand total of fuck all that I asked you."

"Okay," He sighed. "Most of the time I can't feel a thing, but sometimes I can feel stuff. Like i'll get spasms every so often and even though I can't feel my leg moving I can feel something, as if someone keeps jabbing me with a needle."

"That's weird."

"Tell me about it. The worst is when I feel stuff that isn't even there."

"Yeah I heard about that, phantom pain or some shit."

"Jess?" Dean nodded in the affirmative and Sam let out a small laugh, he could hardly believe that his girlfriend and brother who he had barely mentioned had been conspiring behind his back for two years. "Does Dad know?" Sam suddenly thought to ask.

"I don't think so, I never told him. Figured you didn't want me knowing so I doubted you wanted Dad clued in."

"It's not like I didn't want you to know Dean," Sam explained. "I just…I don't even know! I knew you'd drop everything if you knew and I didn't want you doing that. Then later I'd think about calling but you'd said not to call unless I needed you and I didn't really need you so I didn't call which made telling you a bit difficult."

"Okay I get that."

"Yeah?"

"No not really but whatever," Dean shrugged his shoulders before allowing Sam to get back to studying.

"I really need to get this paper done Dean," Sam said pleadingly for the fourth time but somehow Dean seemed to keep distracting him. The one stray noodle that still resided in his hair was a testament to Dean's commitment to distraction.

"What're you doing anyway?" Dean asked before leaning over and trying to grab the yellow tinged notepad Sam had been scribbling notes in but he failed miserably as Sam quickly snatched the pad out of his brother's reach.

"Gotta write a paper on any chosen subject as long as I explain it's social relevance."

"Sounds boring." Dean leant back and made an attempt at getting comfortable. He really wished he'd thought to buy beer.

"Yeah kinda is, I couldn't think of anything that interesting to write about." Sam tapped his pencil against the table and then started to doodle in a corner of his notepad. "One of my friends is discussing the social relevance of Elvis and his impact on views of sexuality."

"Fuck Elvis! We hunt monsters, write a story about that!"

"I can't think of a way to make that socially relevant, sorry Dean." To his credit Sam actually managed to look halfway sincere in his apology.

"Monsters bad, people die, bad for society. There. I should be doing this instead of you."

"You could have you know, I don't see why you didn't." That was an argument that had long since been dropped and Dean was not about to let his younger brother start it up again.

"So what are you writing about then?" Dean abruptly brought that line of questioning to a halt. It would only rehash the exact same conversation they'd had a hundred times after Sam announced his college plans.

_You could have went too, you still could. _

_Drop it Sam. _

_I'm serious Dean. _

_So am I, what the hell would I do at college? _

_Whatever you want for once. _

_Drop it Sam or I drop you, simple as that._

"The inclusion of Eastern European countries into the EU and it's affect on other member states."

"Yeah that is boring."

Dean had finally relented and allowed Sam to research and write his incredibly boring paper, he did of course throw out some very useful comments that aided Sam's paper immensely.

"Polish chicks are hot," Dean had mentioned when Sam brought up the migration of Polish workers to Western Europe. "Seriously man, Polish chicks are like crazy hot," he continued when Sam was not forthcoming with his views on the Polish female population. "I met this Polish chick in New York, her building had a poltergeist and it threw me right down the stairs. I landed at her feet and I could see right up her-"

"Dean seriously, this is about as helpful as…I don't know - a lobotomy."

"No underwear! Seriously man, Polish chicks are so fuckin' hot."

Eventually even with Dean's help Sam managed to finish writing and when Dean asked to read the finished product it received his 'what the fuck is this?' seal of approval. At least Sam thought so, it had been hard to tell between all the 'you are such a geek/dork/nerd/dweeb's that were periodically muttered.

The two gathered together all their rubbish and belongings under the disapproving watch of the librarian. Sam smiled ashamedly at her when they passed by on their way to the exit. He was surprised she hadn't asked them to leave hours before.

"Samuel," Dean looked down at his brother with an eyebrow raised at the librarian's use of the name. Sam looked like he'd been caught trying to sneak out of the house without doing his homework but he turned around and plastered a grin on his face. "You have a noodle on your head."

"I can't believe you," Sam mumbled when they started back towards the exit.

"Oh come on that was hilarious." Dean laughed as he looked to his left where his brother should have been but when he'd reached the top of the small flight of stairs to the exit he had disappeared only to come back into view as he coasted down the ramp. Dean was reminded that there were things that would take some getting used to.

"Man it's cold out here, I don't think it's ever been this cold here," Sam said when they emerged from the library, an uncharacteristic biting chill hung in the air.

"It's 2am, you out here at 2am often?" Dean started walking in the direction of where he had left the Impala. He had considered for a while trying to convince Sam to go along with him to Jericho but in the end Sam was better off staying where he was.

"It's been known to happen." Sam smiled to himself, settling into stride next to Dean.

"Check it out, Mr. College tearing it up. Do you get buck wild Sammy?" He had to laugh. This Sam was so different from the one he'd known, from the one he'd raised almost single handedly.

Sam had always been the more independent of the two, while Dean would follow orders blindly and without question to his old man. Sam had always made his own choices. He had preferred being a child to a soldier and made his opinions on the matter quite clear much to their father's chagrin. If he wanted to go play on the swings, mission be damned he was gonna go 'wheeee'. It had worked out for him in the most part, having books thrust at him so as to stave off an argument about weapons training or sparring. But the Sam he knew had never had the confidence that he saw in that moment. He wasn't sure what it was that had changed in his little brother but it was a good change.

Jessica was a prime example of that change, a stunning girl that had she have approached Sam when he was in high school he would have more than likely peed his pants. Or thrown holy water at her. Either way it would've involved fluid of some kind.

"Civilian life has its perks, I can't lie." Sam laughed and it was abundantly clear to Dean that the best thing Sam had ever done was leave for college. It had changed his brother from a crazy smart shy kid into a confident, self assured smartass.

"Civilian life?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "So what's it like being normal?" he asked when they reached the Impala, he turned to face his brother while he leant back against the car.

"It has its moments." Sam gestured towards his unmoving legs before he shrugged. "Most of the time it's actually quite boring which is nice. I've not had the urge to get chased through woods or hung upside-down in a barn by some crazed thing." He laughed.

"So you never thought of joining a fraternity?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at his brother. He had missed the mocking banter they had shared. He had made an attempt at replacing it with friends who all shared at least bits of Dean's humor. "I'm happy here," he said without even thinking. "Even if there are things that are ingrained in me. I'd hear people talk about weird shit and wonder about it. Is there a haunting nearby? A vamps nest? There were some crazy storms the other day, pretty much cancelled Halloween, and the first thing I thought was 'better hit the books, something's coming' and then I came to the sudden realization that sometimes bad weather is just bad weather."

"So you never got the urge to follow up on stuff?"

"Sure I did. Even after…you know." Dean was becoming aware that 'you know' was about as near to an acknowledgment that Sam would make towards the wheelchair and its reason for being. "Then I'd remember how much broken ribs hurt or how much of a bitch stitches were," not that he was going to tell Dean about the stitches he'd gotten only a few weeks before after a rather drunken night out that had him literally in the gutter.

Dean nodded but something about the way Sam avoided looking at him dead on was a little suspect. "Oh my God. You did research!" he blurted out, a huge grin splitting his face followed closely by loud laugher. "Don't try and deny it, it's all over your face!"

"Maybe a little." Sam laughed, amused by the excitement in his brother's voice.

"And?"

"And what? If I found anything then I passed it on to Bobby or Pastor Jim. You know them, they seem to know just about everyone. I guessed they'd pass on the info to someone." He shrugged and sighed. "I guess there's no such thing as retirement in the hunter community."

"Ignorance is bliss," Dean muttered but the meaning was lost on Sam. "These people don't know what's out there. We do. Can't turn your back on it completely," he elaborated when he saw the confusion on Sam's face.

"I think I convinced myself I could. That when I left you and Dad, that was it. No more monsters. They would just cease to exist if I didn't go looking for them. Pretty stupid."

"A bit," Dean said seriously before he smiled at the indignant look Sam put on. "Nah, just hopeful I think. I'll give you a little credit, you are pretty fuckin' smart."

"What do you plan to do?" Sam asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence where he'd occupied himself by studying the thin layer of dirt under a fingernail.

"Listen Sam." Dean sighed. "I'm not asking you to go back on the hunt. For one you're out of practice and two, you are a lot more vertically challenged than you were when you were 8 and well, you've got it good here man. Got the girl, the friends, the normal cherry pie life and that's cool. But Dad's missing, something big is going down and maybe we should be sticking together."

Sam considered that for a moment. "That mean you're gonna stick around a bit? No offence Dean but I don't think college life is really your thing."

Dean shook his head. "I'm gonna head up to Jericho, see if anyone knows what happened to Dad. Get a clue on what the hell is going on. If I find anything I'll come back and maybe you can help. I'm not asking you to give this up, just help me find Dad," Dean practically pleaded and Sam felt like he had no choice but to nod. "So, uh, how'd you get here? Do you need a ride home?"

"I walked."

Dean snorted. "From what I hear that sounds like a bit of a miracle."

"Funny."

"I always was the funny one."

"I left my car at the apartment, it's not like we're that far away."

That had peaked Dean's interest. "Tell me I taught you well enough that you at least got a kick ass car."

"It works for me."

"That's not an answer Sammy!"

Sam laughed but refused to give away his choice in transportation. "Come on, leave the car here. You can stay at my place for the night and pick it up in the morning." Sam gestured with his head in the direction of his building. "The sofa's not huge but it'll do you for one night."

Dean mulled it over for all of six seconds - his only other choice was finding a motel and for some reason even though he'd spend the night on an uncomfortable couch it seemed a whole lot more inviting than another impersonal motel room by himself. He nodded and pushed himself up off the Impala. "Sure Sammy, I'll stay the night."

The two started off towards Sam's building, the quiet night's silence interrupted only by the sound of sirens in the distance and Dean's ramblings about what Sam was going to make him for breakfast. Waffles were okay but he'd prefer pancakes, and if Sam even tried to give him plain toast he was going to tell Jess about the first time Sam ever got drunk - including all the parts that Sam didn't remember and that Dean had been holding on to for just the right time for maximum embarrassment. Sam definitely wasn't going to tell his brother that Jess had probably witnessed a lot more embarrassing things than anything Dean could tell her.

"Fuck," Sam swore when they turned the last corner and he saw the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks on the road outside of his building, where smoke billowed on.

"Looks like someone left the roast on too long."

Sam hadn't looked too amused, not even when Dean added in some eyebrow waggling. "There's Mat." Sam used his head to gesture towards his roommate and a group of other students. "Mat!" Sam yelled, "Where's Jess?" he asked when the other turned.

All he got in the way of an answer was a shrug until he had made his way closer. "Around somewhere I guess."

"You guess? Haven't you seen her?"

"I was playing Pro Ev with the guys at Mario's."

A hush descended on the gathered crowd when someone with a clipboard wandered over to the masses. Sam recognised him as the guy that had helped him carry boxes when he'd moved into the building, some kind of student rep or something but his name was something he couldn't remember.

"Hummels and Winchester?" the rep yelled while he stared at his clipboard before he looked up and surveyed the crowd.

Dean's head had snapped immediately to Sam and saw out of the corner of his eye the group of guys Mat had been standing with transform into a mass of writhing, flailing arms all intent on gaining attention.

Sam had known what was coming; he'd seen it so often in his sleep. It was their apartment, Jess had been in there and she hadn't made it out. He had known they were more than nightmares, had thought of telling her so many times over the weeks he'd been having them but then he'd convinced himself that it could wait. He had been too late and nothing had been changed.

There were five motels in Jericho, the first had been a bust but surprisingly luck had been on their side at the second when the clerk had recognized their father.

"Booked a room for the month. Showed up at the crack of dawn the other night covered in muck. Haven't really seen him around much after that," the elderly clerk said while tapping a finger on the old worn photograph of John Winchester with his young sons and pointed Dean in the direction of his room as Sam waited stoically in the passenger seat of the Impala, lost in thought.

He hadn't said much of anything since the police had asked if he had somewhere he could stay. All he had said was 'Jericho'. Dean understood but the uniformed men had looked a little confused. They hadn't pressed the issue though, nodded and allowed them to leave.

"I dreamt about it, for weeks Dean," he'd said as soon as they pulled away from the Stanford campus. Dean had left Sam with his stunned friends while he ran back to the library and picked up the Impala. When he had arrived back Sam had just opened the passenger side door, hauled himself in and proceeded to dismantle his chair and throw bits of it over his shoulder into the backseat. Had it been any other situation - had his girlfriend not just been incinerated in his bedroom - Dean would have yelled at Sam's audacity to not only treat the Impala with such disrespect but he'd almost gotten a concussion from the chair's frame as it sailed over the front seat into the back.

"What?" Sam didn't respond, he shook his head and turned his head to watch the early morning scenery fly by.

Dean wrapped his knuckles on the passenger side window and when Sam looked up at him he motioned for Sam to roll the window down. "Looks like Dad was staying in room 109."

Sam nodded and opened the car door, Dean took that to mean that Sam was coming along so started walking off in the direction of the motel rooms. A minute later Sam appeared by his side.

"Are you gonna leave the car unlocked?"

"Fuck!" Dean exclaimed, turned and ran back to the car.

When he'd made it back to Sam they were outside room 109, right in front of the stairs that led to the door.

"This could be a problem me thinks," Dean noted looking at the series of five steps that led straight up to the door and then down at his brother, his quite irritated brother.

Sam huffed out a sigh and motioned to the door. "Just pick the lock Dean."

Practice made Dean's task extremely quick and easy, the lock gave way with a soft click and Dean shoved open the door before he looked down at Sam sitting at the foot of the stairs with a smirk. "It's like they aren't even trying to keep people out."

"Just go in and see what you can find." Dean tried to ignore the annoyed tone in his brother's voice. Another thing he'd have to get used to: not everything they needed to do or access was exactly accessible.

Dean was stunned when he made his way into the room; there was not one area of wall not covered in printouts, newspaper clippings and handwritten notes. The curtains had been drawn and the only light came through the still open door. Dean walked over to the bedside table that sat next to the king sized bed. It was the one perk he himself had found to hunting alone - no need to share a double bed with your spider monkey of a brother or lay cramped in a single. Thick salt lines stood out against the dark carpet around the windows and the bed.

There was an abandoned burrito and half eaten cheeseburger on the bedside table that, judging by the smell and blue life forms taking hold of the burger bun they'd been sitting there at least a couple of days. He couldn't see any sign of his father's belongings; no clothes, bags or weapons were visible. When he looked under the bed, lifting the long covers out of his way he saw something that sent a chill running down his spine; his father's journal. Dean clambered halfway under the bed to reach the leather bound book, smudging the salt line in the process.

"Did Dad go crazy while I was at college?" Sam's voice startled Dean and he ended up banging his head on the wooden frame of the bed before scrambling out from under it, journal clutched in one hand.

"Dude did you levitate or some shit?"

"Something like that," Sam spoke distractedly as he looked around the mess of the room, the floor was clear but the walls screamed out with clutter.

A picture of their mother stood out from the rest of the paper that surrounded the photograph. Sam made his way over to that patch and looked up at the clippings around it. Details of freak weather disturbances in the days and weeks leading up to the fire, a town a few miles away from Lawrence had some unusual behaviour from local children and parental deaths that indicated a virus going around in the area. And then there was a small blurb, nothing more than a few sentences about a drunken man seeing a pack of wild dogs fighting on Linwood Rd just outside of Lawrence while he tried to walk the long country road from Lawrence to Linwood.

Dean joined his brother in looking over the papers that lined the walls. There were more clippings from newspapers that spanned over twenty years, all reporting similar disturbances - freakishly cold weather, lightening storms, wild dogs, deaths and then a fire. It looked as though their father had found a pattern, a way to predict where the thing that had killed their mother all those years ago had been. There were also papers pertaining to the local haunting of roads surrounding Jericho, a note in his father's writing drew Dean's attention.

_Constance Welch - Oakley Memorial Cemetery._

Sam's heart started to beat faster in his chest when he looked up to see newspaper clippings and printouts from a weather tracking service. They were the most recent and they pointed right to Palo Alto. It had been the same thing for sure. The same thing had killed their mother and then it had killed Jessica. Sam looked up as his brother stood next to him and looked up at the papers. It was clear on his face when realization hit him too, his head whipped down to see Sam's eyes screw shut and a groan escape his lips.

"I had nightmares of someone creeping around the apartment, Jess on the ceiling, bloody and then fire everywhere."

"Sam." Dean stepped towards his brother but paused. What exactly was he going to do? Hug him? Give him a manly shoulder pat? No he just stood there awkwardly.

"The first couple of times I shrugged it off, it was how Mom died and it was coming up on the anniversary of her death and I thought maybe I was just projecting or some shit. But I kept having the same dream, night after night and I wanted to tell her, warn her but how the hell was I supposed to explain it?"

"Let's just get back to Stanford, we'll figure things out from there." Dean walked towards the door leaving Sam who sat there and studied the wall intently, looking at the colorful swirl of a weather pattern.

"I should have risked it, found a way to tell her."

Dean stopped in the doorway and turned. "Sam please tell me you are not trying to blame yourself for this." Sam said nothing just sat there dejectedly and looked down at his lap facing away from his brother. "Look, if Dad's figured out a pattern for this then good chances are that he's on the trail of this thing."

Sam turned and looked at his brother hovering in the doorway, journal in hand. "What about his journal, why leave that?" Dean shrugged a response and headed though the door, hopping down the stairs.

Sam let out a sigh and wheeled over to the doorway, popped a wheelie and proceeded to bump quickly down the stairs.

"Check out the posterboy for 'handicapable'."

"Shut up Dean." Sam's tone shut Dean up completely. It had been made clear that it was not the time or place for jokes and mirth.

Dean opened the journal when they were back sitting in the Impala, the book was crammed full of clippings, illustrations and his father's scribblings. Pages upon pages that detailed so many of their past hunts together. Towards the end was a slip of paper stuck between two blank pages, the header indicating it was from the Sunshine Lodge Motel, whose parking lot they currently inhabited.

_It's coming. Look out for Sam._

"Does it say anything?"

"No," Dean said when he slammed the book shut. "Nothing."

Dean leant over, opened the glovebox that sat in front of his brother and shoved the journal in there. He hoped Sam would just believe him and leave it be. Luck was on his side when Sam let out a ragged breath, twiddled his fingers for a moment and looked out the window. "What now?"

He was at a loss; he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing - if anything. His girlfriend, the woman he had loved, had been killed by the same thing as his mother. He was angry, he wanted to rip out it's lungs - if it had lungs - and watch it burn the same way he'd seen Jess burn in his mind's eye. He suddenly understood what had made his father into the man he knew; he understood that burning desire for revenge now too.

But plotting revenge was not a feasible option at that particular moment and he was at a loss as to what was an option. Call Jess's parents? Did they know? Surely someone from the college or the police would have contacted them and he felt ashamed for a moment that they hadn't once crossed his mind. He should have called them.

"Not sure man," Dean said distracting Sam from his thoughts. "Head back down to Stanford I guess, check into a motel."

"Fine." he leaned his head against the window as Dean started the car and their journey began again.

When Dean pulled into a parking space at a motel ten minutes from campus Sam felt the anger he'd been trying so hard to quash bubble up again.

"When I woke up in the hospital after the accident I was in agony and when the doctor said there was next to no chance of me walking, ever and Jess squeezed my hand so fucking tight all I wanted to do was smile. I'd always known the hunt would come calling at some point and I felt like I'd just been handed the biggest get out of jail free card I could imagine. It was like getting sprung from gym class to go to the dentist, sure it would suck but at the time it seemed to beat the alternative. That's how I saw it. Whatever did this obviously saw things differently and now here I am again, checking into another fucking motel."

Sam threw open the door, twisted around to grab the frame of his chair from where it sat on the backseat and almost hit Dean in the head with it again as he swung it over and out the door before doing the same with the wheels. Leaning out of the car he shoved the wheels in place and lifted himself out.

"I just wanted to be normal."

Dean looked out from his position still behind the wheel at his dejected brother. "I'm really sorry Sammy," was all he could think to say at that moment.

"I just wanted to be fucking normal and what did it get me? A paralysed ass and a dead girlfriend. Fuck!" Sam slammed the car door shut and Dean had actually felt the whole car shake under its force.

"He didn't mean to take it out on you," Dean told the car while he stroked the dashboard softly.

Dean couldn't blame his brother. He should be angry; he should be able to grieve. It's something neither of them had ever done before. Sure they had lost people, hunter friends lost in the hunt during their youth but that was different somehow. Their mother, Sam didn't remember her and never felt the need to grieve for someone he never knew. Dean doesn't even remember her all that well, he remembers flashes of smiles, a frog faced sippy cup, blond hair and a bulbous stomach. He remembers he loved her, felt her love in return and then she wasn't there anymore. He had missed her warmth, her presence; but he had his baby brother who he had to provide warmth for, warmth that the fire had sucked from their father.

He tapped the wheel a moment, sighed and opened the door. He'd grown used to his Dad at times - at a lot of times - being gruff and angry for no good reason other than the love of his life had been killed and he needed his revenge. Seeing the same from his younger brother was something he'd never thought he'd witness. It was a fresh wound for Sam and Dean couldn't blame his brother for having moments of moody cuntishness.

Dean made his way to the trunk and set about gathering his things, a large duffle bag that contained clothes in desperate need of a wash, an old Pepsi bottle full of holy water and a canister of salt - just in case. When he slammed the trunk door shut he saw his brother had reappeared from the motel's reception, a set of keys and wallet sitting on his lap.

"I stink, I'm gonna take a shower." Dean barely even paused to throw his bag and provisions on the first bed he came to before he walked straight into the bathroom and locked the door.

Dean had walked out of the bathroom twenty minutes later to the sight of his brother sprawled across one of the two beds, face down and breathing deeply. Salt lines were set around the windows and a seal crudely drawn on motel stationary sat on the carpet in front of the door. Dean tried not to make too much noise when he moved around but he needn't have bothered when Sam's voice gave evidence that he was far from asleep.

"Sorry I was a bit of an ass," his words came garbled from his face being pressed into the mattress. All anger - and from the look of it all energy - were gone from his voice and body.

"No problem. I can take your pissy little bitch moods, besides I kinda think this calls for it." Dean sat on the bed opposite and watched his brother. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Thinking," came the muffled reply.

"Dangerous."

"I need clothes, fuck I'll need a suit for the funeral." Dean nodded along, that sounded reasonable. "I'll need to go to the apartment, see what's still there."

"We can do that."

"Do I smell?"

"You know I think I was masking it before but now I'm clean, yeah you smell like ass."

It was the smell that hit him first. As soon as he pushed the door open it assaulted his senses; burnt wood, fabric, flesh. And there was something else, something that he felt like he should be able to place but couldn't. It made him thankful that he had forgone a solid breakfast, but even the coffee he had swallowed down on the drive from their motel seemed doomed to repeat itself under the onslaught of the foul stench.

Pushing his way in Sam surveyed the area, his home. There was a thin film of ash covering everything. Sam reached up to turn the light on and even that lonely bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was dimmed by the soot. Everything in the living area and kitchen was pretty much intact, save for the discoloration. The carpet that he'd hated since moving in was ruined, blackened and waterlogged. He found a vague sense of satisfaction in that. The demise of carpet was his silver lining. But as he pushed further in, the heel of his hand brushed against a wheel and came away damp and black. The carpet had its revenge.

Dean grew tired and impatient, but dared not admit to worry while he waited for his brother by the second floor elevators. His non-worry increased ten-fold when he squelched his way into the apartment, horrible sooty water pooled around his boots as he sunk slightly into the carpet. His nose had twitched once at the sight, then again at the smell. An all too familiar smell.

"Sam?" he called into the dank apartment without answer.

There was a small pile of things that Sam must have been planning to take with them sitting on a kitchen counter. But Dean bypassed the kitchen and went straight for the series of doors at the other end of the room. The first room he came to was a bedroom. Dean had merely peered in and seen it was in better condition than the main area of the apartment so he figured it must have been Mat's. He moved on to the next door which had lain wide open a few feet away and the first thing he had noticed amongst the darkness was his brother laying on the ground half under what must have once been his bed. It had not been a position he'd expected to find Sam in.

"This place stinks of sulphur."

"Is that what that smell is?" came the muffled reply from beneath the wreckage.

Dean stood prone and listened to his brother occasionally grunt in exertion, he watched Sam as he disappeared slowly under the mangled wood and metal.

"Are you hiding in there? What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked after having long since grown impatient.

"I'm looking for something."

"It's pitch black in here."

"Which is why I'm having problems," Dean heard his brother mumble, which had been quickly followed by a series of thuds, some expletives and finally a triumphant 'aha!'. Then there had been silence. It stood out stark against the past few minutes of noise. The silence was broken by an embarrassed cough from Sam. "Could you um, just grab my legs and pull me out?" Sam had muttered rather pathetically from beneath the rubble.

Dean moved forward and grabbed Sam around his too thin ankles and tugged, hard. Sam was wrenched from where he'd been hidden, he clutched a metal lock-box in both hands and when he turned over onto his back he saw a disgusted look on his brother's face.

Sam's entire front had been caked in black crud, but he hadn't seemed to care much as he just threw the lock-box at Dean before hauling himself into his chair that he'd abandoned in his quest for the treasure Dean now held. But his eyes had been caught on a spot on the floor, without even looking to his brother he held out the box for Sam to take - which he did diligently - his eyes rooted to the floor. Dean knelt, jeans getting stained in the process and picked up a photograph.

It had been Sam's only link to their mother, but as Dean looked down at the image only John Winchester was visible in the charred remains. It seemed oddly poetic.

Rain would have been more appropriate, it would have fit with the somber mood. The bright sunlight had seemed harsh and mocking, shining down on the gathered crowd. Dean stood next to Sam, uncomfortable in his bureaucratic black suit that he felt also mocked the proceedings and watched Jessica's mother sob uncontrollably. When Dean chanced a look down at his brother he saw that he too looked just as uncomfortable.

Sam was unsure where he should be looking, his gaze would fall on the group of girls holding hands and figured they'd known Jess in high school, he saw her father holding her distraught mother as her younger sister stood by with silent tears streaming down her face. Sam found the easiest and hardest place to look was at the single photograph that stood atop the empty coffin, starved of remains. It had been taken years before, before college, before Sam.

Two hours later found the Moore family home crowded with people, Sam and his friends bunched together outside in the backyard and Dean finding a moment of solace in the company of the buffet table. If he saw that Lukas guy mess with his tie one more time he was going to garrotte him with it. Besides, the whole time he spent watching Jess's family and friends all he could think was to ask Sam if there was anything they needed to salt and burn, just in case. And that had seemed a little insensitive.

While he had been inspecting a suspect looking sausage roll Dean heard a familiar voice, and when he turned he saw that voice connected to an all too familiar face that was speaking with Jessica's mother.

"-One of her professors. She was a lovely girl, she'll be missed terribly." Dean heard as he approached.

"Prof? Can I see you outside? Now," Dean's voice left no room for argument as he strode past the two to the front door of the house, wrenched open the door and held it, waiting for John Winchester to get his act together and follow.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dean what are you doing here?" Dean took a moment to look his father over, the tweed suit - while very professor-y wasn't very John Winchester-y and Dean was tempted to laugh hell he was tempted to just lay down on the grass and let the tears flow, freaking suede elbow pads!

"What am I doing here?" Dean said looking to his shocked father and threw up his arms before he gestured with an uncharacteristic wildness at his father. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you go to Jericho?" When Dean nodded he continued to not answer the question. "So you know that this thing is back, this girl died in a fire Dean. You know what that means."

Dean scratched the back of his neck and studied his black shiny shoes, so unlike what he'd rather wear. "Uh yeah Dad, the girl," he hesitated a moment. "Jess, she's - was - Sam's girlfriend. Sam's out back."

"Jessica Moore was Sam's girlfriend? Was he there?"

Dean ignored the first question, after all he had already spelled it out for his father but he did note the worry in his father's voice, a welcome change from the usual drill sergeant focused purely on his mission. "He was with me, we got there after."

"I was looking into Jessica Moore to see if there was any reason she would be a target." John eventually answered his son's initial question and explained his presence.

"You think it was because of Sam?"

"Did you find anything of use at the scene?" Dean started to get a little tired of his father ignoring his questions. They were valid dammit!

"Dad, do you think this is about Sam?"

"Dean." John's tone made it clear that he wasn't going to waste time on questions he didn't think were necessary, in other words - any questions that weren't his.

"Yes Sir. Sulphur."

"Sulphur?" Dean nodded and John laid a hand on his shoulder. "I need you to look out for your brother."

"So you do think this is about Sam."

"I don't know. Just keep your brother safe Dean, don't let him out of your sight." The hand on his shoulder gripped tight and his father smiled. "I'm getting close."

Dean watched his father walk down the driveway to the obnoxiously large truck that he doubted a professor of whatever the fuck it was Jess studied would drive. Compared to his beloved Impala it was a monstrosity, how his father could go from one to the other Dean would never know. The monstrosity roared to life and sped off down the quiet suburban street leaving Dean alone in the Moore's driveway.

He made his way through the crowd of mourners and back to where his brother and his friends were gathered with sullen faces. Dean walked up behind Sam and gripped his shoulder in a similar gesture to that of their father. "I heard from Dad."

After the fire in Lawrence, John and his sons had lived for a few months in a motel not dissimilar to the one Sam and Dean were inhabiting, it had ended up being the first of a thousand that they would call home. So many childhood milestones had happened in those makeshift homes, Dean barely remembered a childhood birthday but he did remember his brother's first steps in that first motel - walking before he could crawl - staggered, sloppy steps from where he'd been playing on the floor to his brother's outstretched arms.

Every motel they called home held a little bit of their childhood, of the childhood Dean defected for his baby brother. It was something Sam had tried on numerous occasions to thank his brother for but never with very good reception. It wasn't until Sam started puberty that Dean stopped playing Mom and turned into the devilish older brother he always should have been but Sam still remembered when Dean bowed to his every childish whim instead of telling him to fuck off.

_When Sam had come home from Benny Lauth's house all he had done was enthuse about what Benny's mom had made them for dinner. "I wish you could cook like that Dean," came the five year old's proclamation and it had stung Dean more than he would ever admit. _

_For days Dean heard similar things from a mushroom headed Sam every time he asked Dean what was for dinner. Never quite satisfied with the usual culinary miracles that his nine year old brother sat before him. "I want 'lettes like Benny!" _

_Dean stood on a chair in front of the stove, stirring a pot full of spaghetti hoops and sighed. "I don't know how to make omelettes Sammy." _

_Dean felt his heart drop when he looked back to see Sam's face fall, his hair bouncing as he nodded. "Okay Dean."_

_"I'll try okay?" Dean had said when he placed the bowl of overly soft pasta shapes in front of his little brother and gained a gap toothed grin in response. That grin made the awkward phone call he'd made to Pastor Jim after Sam's bedtime worth it._

_When Dean put a plate of ready cut omelette down on the table for his brother the next night he felt more nervous than when as an introduction to yet another new class in another new school he'd been made to recite the eight times table. _

_Sam speared a square and chewed with Dean watching intently. "It's nice," he said around the partly chewed food before skewering another piece. "But it's not as good as what Benny's mom makes."_

_"I'll do better next time, promise."_

Any time he sees omelettes on a menu now Sam feels a horrible guilt settle in his stomach.

The problem with their current motel residence Sam had found was that the television was stuck on one channel, this had annoyed Sam because all it seemed to show were depressing made for TV movies and talkshows - both of which Dean had taken an odd interest in since they had parted ways years before. He would lay leaning against the headboard watching the drug addled redneck scream at her obese husband for diddling her sister or mother, or her father while Dean cheered her on and yelled dismembering tips. Or of course when the depressing shit came on he'd sit on the edge of the bed practically sucking his thumb.

So Sam had taken after the first couple of days of this to hiding the remote but with his limited reach there were only so many hiding spots and Dean seemed to have cottoned on to all of them. Although it had taken him quite a few hours to locate it when Sam had shoved it between his ass and the low back of his chair. He was sure he never wanted to relive the groping that occurred because of that.

But the worst, the very worst thing about the depressing stuff was that Jess had loved that crap. She had made him sit through countless soppy films and cried into his shoulder as the little cancer girl died or the hunky single dad rose above adversity. And that was the problem, he was constantly reminded of Jess. Every flash of blonde hair had him thinking it was her, he would catch a whiff of the perfume she wore only to find the smell belonged to someone else.

Dean had tried to make him visit with his friends but even the thought of them brought memories of Jess flooding through his mind. The shit they had got up to had pissed her off so often, Lukas and Holger especially when they discovered the joy of handcuffs. It wasn't very joyful when Jess had had to come to his rescue at 5 in the morning because his idiot friends had stolen his chair and handcuffed his sleeping friend to it rendering them both 'completely fucking useless' as Jess put it.

_"Fuck," Sam groaned when he blinked his way into consciousness, the throbbing of his back was dulled only by the pounding in his head. Mornings were the worst, his back seizing up overnight. It took usually about half an hour for his back to loosen up before he could move without groaning like an arthritic 80 year old. He was lucky, he knew that - doctors kept telling him that, some people were completely pain free post injury, some people spent the rest of their lives managing the pain. He was a little in-between, some days all he woke up with was a stiff back that faded quickly, he knew he'd suffer if he overdid something so tended not to but then there were those rare days when for no reason at all he was in absolute agony. Idiopathic. No idiot could figure out why. _

_"ugh," was about the most intelligent thing he could muster up at that moment. He took in his surroundings from where he was half sprawled on a too small sofa, the television that sat opposite flickered blue against the darkness, wires strewn around connected to game controllers but there was no other bodies. It definitely seemed like Mario's apartment but there were usually other bodies, and usually his chair was right next to him, sometimes containing another body. Not this time though, the place was suspiciously body-less, then again he couldn't see into the bathroom and there had on occasion been bodies found in there, asleep in the tub, on the toilet or there was that one time they'd discovered Holger asleep with his ass in the sink. _

_"Fuck!" Sam heard his earlier statement echoed from one of the bedrooms. "Lukas!"_

_"He's not here," Sam said with great effort. "No one is." _

_"Well then who the fuck handcuffed me to your chair?"_

_"Wasn't me."_

_"No shit." Sam heard springs moving then a thud, followed closely by a crash and an "owwww, yeah that didn't work."_

_"Don't you dare break my fucking chair or I'll kill you." Sam yelled through and hoped that even though he was kinda stranded on a sofa he at least sounded threatening. _

_"I think your chair just broke me, I think i've dislocated my shoulder!"_

_"Where are you handcuffed?"_

_"The bedroom!" _

_"Where on the chair!"_

_"A wheel."_

_"Just take the wheel off then."_

_A rather pathetic "I don't know how" almost made Sam want to crawl through and give his friend a hug._

_"Can you reach your phone?"_

_There was a series of moans, grunts and thuds which under normal circumstances would have had Sam fleeing lest he see Mario naked again. A triumphant 'aha!' eventually spilled out into the living room._

_"Now who are you gonna call?" _

_"I dunno, ghostbusters?" _

_"Ghosts didn't do this to us, moronic assholes did."_

_"Well do they have moronbusters?"_

_"Just call someone!" The place fell silent and Sam strained to hear any noise coming from the next room until Mario's voice filtered through sounding a lot more calm than it had previously._

_"Hi Jess, Mario here sorry about the early call, oh yeah a great time, got a bit of a problem Sam wants to know if you can bring over either a bolt cutter, a key for handcuffs, Lukas, Holger or a spare wheel." Sam listened to the long pause and imagined the things going through his girlfriend's head at 5am. "No we didn't get a flat, it's kind of a funny story," and Mario had no clue that that was really the wrong way to start something off, Jess had become acutely aware of anything that started out as 'a funny story' inevitably ended up far from funny and her either having to bail someone out of jail or make a trip to the emergency room. "You see I have woken up attached to your boyfriend's chair, through no fault of our own may I add, this has rendered both of us quite incapacitated and we were wondering if you could come to our rescue, which brings us back to that list I spoke about earlier."_

_Through the open curtains Sam could see the sky start to lighten in the preparation of dawn and wondered if Jess would let him live to see the light of day. _

_"Fantastic, we'll see you soon then. Just let yourself in and Jess consider me completely at your mercy, any sexual favours you want in return just ask."_

_Sam rolled his eyes, after this it was safe to say he wasn't going to be getting any sexual favours never mind Mario. _

She hadn't talked to him for a week after that, and had banned him from speaking with Lukas for a month - Holger was drunk at the time so he was cut a little slack as usual, Lukas however was completely sober - just stupid. Any time he thinks of Lukas he sees the irritated look on Jess's face when she thrust the open bottle of girly shampoo she always kept a bottle of in his bathroom under his nose, his senses assaulted by the harsh smell of vinegar. Holger was like a little brother to her in some ways, when he thinks of him he sees her ruffling Holger's hair in an affectionate gesture, laughingly encouraging his bad dancing or trying to set him up with every pretty girl that went by. Mat and Mario just remind him of the time she'd asked him so seriously if he'd ever consider a threesome with either of them.

Dean hadn't pushed the issue so when Sam had said a simple 'no' to meeting with his friends it was left at that and the subject changed.

Three days after the funeral Sam had asked Dean to give him a ride to one of his classes, the first he'd actually thought about going to since Dean had shown up. The paper he'd spent hours writing in the company of his brother had been burning a hole in his bag and finally he relented and took it in. He had known he would regret that.

"What're you gonna do?" Sam asked through the Impala's open door. Dean had shrugged and looked around the area at the students milling about.

"Maybe call Jim or someone, see if they know of any local hunts. Might as well do some good while I'm here." Sam couldn't help but he stung by that, Dean's appearance hadn't done much good for him or for Jess. "You need me to pick you up after class or anything?"

"You know I don't need fucking babysitting." Sam slammed the door and glared at Dean for good measure through the open window. Dean simply raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Tantrum over?"

"Fuck you."

"Obviously not," Dean rolled his eyes. "You need a lift or not?" he asked, his tone exasperated.

Sam deflated right in front of his eyes and shook his head. "I'll go get my car and drive it back to the motel," he said meekly and turned to go to class, Dean watched him go until he was swallowed up by the crowd. One extreme to another, Dean had noticed the moodswings over the days since Jess's death and was wondering who was slipping Sam the oestrogen.

Sam was pretty screwed over when it came to his sociology class. He had two choices; either he used the main entrance to the lecture hall which meant he was stuck at the very back, his only option if he needed to see the lecturer about anything was to bump down two dozen stairs - something he'd done but his back always punished him for later - or he had the other option of using the side entrance which left him at the very front under the nose of the lecturer, and he'd never been one to draw attention to himself. In the wake of events no one in the class seemed to give a damn that Sam wasn't the crazy outgoing type with everyone, he had his friends and he was happy with them. Everyone that entered the lecture hall seemed to stop by to offer condolences and words of support, in the end he was almost happy to see Mario regardless of the Jess related memories his presence evoked.

After handing in the overdue paper Sam considered his options, either he could go to his next class and suffer through more of the same 'comfort' or he could get the hell out of dodge, get his car and go hide in the motel - perhaps with added cowering under covers. To no one's surprise Sam chose the hiding option.

When Sam finally reached his building's parking lot the place was pretty deserted, his car the only one soaking up the meagre sun in its usual spot by the entrance in one of the few disabled bays. There were a couple of girls outside the entrance to the building smoking and as Sam approached he waved briefly, didn't know either of their names but they were pretty much always found in the same spot chain smoking, Sam had come to know them as Smokey McSmokerson and Chimney O'Fumes.

The driver's seat was completely out of whack and the car smelled of Jess, of that perfume that he'd bought her for her last birthday when Sam got in the car. And it turned out the car was just a microcosm of all the things that had been reminding him of her. He found her sunglasses in the glovebox surrounded by empty packets of the cherry flavour gum she'd loved. A lip balm, a hair bobble and a whole host of things that if Dean ever saw he'd be stuck with the name Samantha for the rest of his life.

Even with the seat not being to his liking - obviously Jess had been the last one to use it, which explained why Sam was hardly able to get his legs in - it beat the hell out of the Impala's uncomfortable bench seat that he'd been subjected to.

"I just need something local," Dean sat hunched over the poor excuse for a dining table, newspapers spread around looking for anything that could be suspicious - other than the death of one Jessica Moore - while he spoke on the phone. "Mexico isn't very local Jimmy." Dean was going to argue a little more but banging at the motel door interrupted him. "Hang on!" he wasn't quite sure who he was telling to hang on but Pastor Jim said nothing over the phone and the banging stopped.

He opened the door to find his brother there, a brown paper bag on his lap and the smell of a myocardial infarction in the air. Dean grabbed the bag and took it to the table for it to leave nice grease stains on his collection of newspapers. "Listen I'll call you back." Dean said, his attention briefly on the phone while Sam wheeled in and shut the door. "Let me know if you find anything, bye."

"Who was that?" Sam asked when Dean snapped the phone shut and threw it over to bounce on his bed.

"Pastor Jim, he says hi by the way."

"He know of any jobs?" Sam joined his brother at the table and made an attempt at shoving one of the extra chairs out of the way.

"There's something in the Mexican desert."

"Mexico?"

"Mexican authorities have been finding bodies every few days, all men, all gutted. They're putting it down to starvation and coyotes."

"And Pastor Jim?"

"Not quite sure but he thinks it's worth checking out."

"I can't go to Mexico man, I mean I can but really? Desert? Sand is not my friend."

"I get that, I also never said you were coming. You have school, friends, all that shit. I promised Dad we'd stick together, that means I stick with you."

"So what? I have you as my shadow now?"

"Pretty much."

"I'm gonna go lay down." Sam backed up away from the table without even touching the chicken burger he'd bought himself, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat beside his bed. He had just settled down when he heard a faint buzzing and it took a little while for him to notice that it was his phone on vibrate, in his bag that hung on the back of his chair. By the time he'd leant over, swivelled the chair around and dug the phone out it'd stopped its buzzing ring. There was a notification message on the screen though telling him that the caller had left a voicemail. He lifted the phone to his ear and listened.

There were days Sam remembered when he'd been in so much pain, lightening striking up and down his back. Feeling like someone had tried to hack out his spinal column and kidneys with a teaspoon and Jess would lay with him, a soft hand stroking along the large scar that followed the path of his spine. She'd been the one that held his hand as he lay on his stomach cringing with each click of what had looked to Sam like pliers, wielded by a nurse as she removed the staples that had been holding together the skin covering metal plates, screws and rods leaving that angry red puckered skin that faded to shiny pink scar tissue.

"I'll let you play with my boobs after this if you're good," she had whispered in his ear making him laugh and earning him a reprimand from the totalitarian nurse.

Her simple comforting gestures had done more for him than those stupid counsellors he'd been forced to see when he had moved to the rehab facility. They were one in a long line of seemingly endless professionals he had the experience of working with. Counsellors, occupational therapists, physical therapists, doctors, nurses and even that social worker guy who sorted out everything to do with Stanford.

Now Stanford were sending their own counsellor. A woman that had called to inform him that he had an appointment with her in the morning. A woman who would try to replace the comfort Jess had given with empty words and listening and an unending amount of bullshit that Sam just did not want to deal with. Nothing that woman could say would equate to the feeling of Jess squeezing his hand or her fingers lightly feathering along his back, or even her completely out of place humor. He couldn't handle that, it felt too much like she was being replaced, poorly but replaced nonetheless.

Sam knew he needed to get away, escape from the constant reminders of his loss. He sat up and looked at his brother still sitting at the table.

"So, Mexico?"

Dean looked over at his brother laying on his back on the double bed, phone still clutched in one hand.

"We're not going to Mexico."

"Man, they are making me see a shrink." He slammed the fist still holding the cell phone against the mattress with a dull thud.

"So?"

"So?" Sam looked at his brother indignantly.

"Yeah so? Maybe it would be good for you to I dunno, talk or some shit. Get your touchy feelies out." Dead shrugged before he picked up Sam's abandoned chicken burger and started eating that even though he'd just inhaled a double cheeseburger and fries - and for once hadn't even paused to dump out all the salad crap.

"You can't be serious." Sam said, incredulous and Dean wasn't sure for a moment if Sam was referring to what he'd said or what he'd done. "Dean Winchester advocating counselling?"

"Listen genius, your girlfriend died. That sucks. I hardly knew her and I still feel like I wanna punch something so I can only imagine how you actually feel but since you don't want to talk to me about anything maybe you should talk to someone, and if you punch them then it doesn't hurt me."

"You want to punch something?"

"Well yeah, she was a cool chick. Funny, kept me up to date with your shit," Dean looked at his brother with a small smile, a smudge of mayo marring his face. "She was hot, the thought of her kept me company many a night on the road I'll tell you."

"Dean seriously! You didn't…oh God you did."

"What's wrong with that? It's not like I thought of you and her. Just her. And me. And a large tub of raspberry jelly."

Sam looked as though he were about to protest but tilted his head instead. "I thought you preferred blueberry."

"Blueberry doesn't really go with blondes." Dean said as matter of fact as if he were telling Sam that the sky was blue or ghosts said 'boo'.

"I still don't want to stay here, and I really don't want to talk to some psychologist who will analyse me to death."

"Well what the hell do you want to do Sam?"

Sam sat up and leant forward, arms resting on his legs while he looked sharply at his brother. "Leave!"

"For fucks sake Sam, you really want to go to Mexico?"

"Yes!"

"And what happened to all that sand is not my friend bullshit then?"

"Maybe I want to make friends with it."

"You wanna go roll around in some sand, fine! I'm sure there's a kiddie play park around here somewhere, we'll find you a nice sandpit and you can make friends with all the little kids that have about the same amount of common sense as you do right now. But I am not fucking going to fucking Mexico."

"Fine. No fucking Mexico," Sam grumbled while leaning back and slamming back onto the mattress. "But man, I really don't want to talk to ."

"It might help."

"Yeah like the guy at rehab," Sam scoffed as a hand scraped the bangs back off his face and rested on his head. "Trying to convince me that I felt worthless because that's _normal under the circumstances_, I wasn't depressed going in but halfway through and I wanted to find some rope or a really high building to throw myself off. I actually began to think he was some sort of soul sucking demon or something."

"Was he?"

"Yeah some kind of special breed that comes with their very own diplomas."

"What about school huh? You just want to give that up too?"

"I need to get away Dean. I'm sure I can take a semester off or something. I just need a bit of time." Sam had practically pleaded.

"Alright, fine," Dean got up and walked to where his brother lay staring at the ceiling. "But after you talk to that counsellor guy."

Sam put up a fight, Dean fought harder and Sam relented. They could leave if he passed the Dr. Phil inspection, but they never made it that far. Barely made it until morning before they were tearing out of the parking lot.

Sam had slept fitfully, dreams of Jessica not unlike those he'd had every night until they weren't. Until he was sat in the aisle of a church he knew too well, one of the few proper homes he'd known in his youth, sanctuary in Pastor Jim's house of God. Jessica's scent filled the air and she walked straight past him to the alter, blonde hair cascading down her back over the flimsy nightdress she wore. He couldn't move, couldn't say anything, could only watch as she made her way barefoot to the stand full of flickering votive candles.

"It's nice to see you again Sam," her voice filtered over to where he sat watching her. She picked up a long thing wooden stick, set it alight with the flame of a lit candle before passing the flame on to an unlit votive. "It's been too long." She turned and the flickering light reflected in her eyes for the briefest of moments turning them a sharp yellow.

"I had plans for us." Sam wanted to smile, he'd had plans too - marriage, white picket fence, 2.4 children, the whole shebang - but something made him think that those weren't the type of plans Jess was referring to. Not with the look that she wore, one he had never seen on her face before - a vicious cruel smile. "Big plans," she started moving towards him, circling around the back of his chair and laid a hand on the back of his neck. "We were going to watch the world burn together, side by side."

"That's all changed now hasn't it?" She sighed, dropped her hand and stalked back towards the votive stand. "Look at you. It's pathetic!" lunging forward Jess shoved the stand over, glass smashing at her feet and flames spilling out and up a long red curtain bunched over at the side of the alter. "You are pathetic," she said when she turned back to face him, face impassive - showing none of the anger she'd let loose seconds before.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it though, I've got something else up my sleeve. Might take a little bit more time but I figure I can fill it with torturing you." Sam watched Jess as she crunched her way through broken glass towards him leaving a trail of blood in her wake. "I've already got your girlfriend as my very own meatsuit," Jess's face contorted again into that cruel smirk and everything fell into place for Sam. "She's a bit small for my tastes, I usually prefer someone I can really move around in. Thank goodness I had to forethought to rip her insides out before I jumped in," along with the bloody trail she was leaving on the stone floor a harsh red stain started to spread across her stomach as she advanced towards Sam, she stopped at his side and leant down to whisper harshly in his ear. "Think how crowded it could have been."

Sam could only listen as he watched the flames spread across the alter of the church. "I'm going to make you watch when I string up your precious big brother and peel the flesh from his bones. Slowly. He's going to scream almost as much as little Jessica did. But first I think I'll start right here, we might not be able to watch the world burn together but you can watch as I burn Blue Earth to the ground."

Sam had woken with a start breath coming in short sharp bursts, sweat and tears flowing onto the pillow he lay on. "Dean!" he choked out his brother's name and took the grunt in response to mean that Dean was listening. "We've got to leave now!"

Dean had set about settling up the motel bill while Sam went back and forth between the motel room and his car, packing as much of his stuff into the trunk as was possible and not for the first time cursed the lack of space. Sam slammed the trunk shut just in time to see his brother wandering over taking in the car with a large duffle bag thrown over one shoulder.

"So Sammy, when did you turn into a sixteen year old street racer?" He asked looking at the compact Japanese car.

"Bite me," Sam remarked opening the driver side door, moved his chair parallel with the driver seat facing the back of the car, reached in and opened the rear door which opened the opposite way leaving the entire interior of the car exposed.

"Okay that's actually kinda cool," Dean conceded.

"We better get going, you call Pastor Jim?"

"Yeah. No answer, but it's still early." Dean tried to reassure his brother. The sky was just starting to fade from black to a lighter royal blue.

"We'll stop somewhere in Nevada or Utah and call again, get breakfast."

"Sure Sam."

Sam pulled a lever on the side of the driver's seat the lowered the back of the seat all the way down before he hauled himself into the car and began pulling the wheels from his chair, having to shake the second one loose and leaning all the way back in the seat as he passed each part of the chair over into the backseat. He sat up reached back and flicked the lever on the seat and the backrest flipped back up, Sam leaned over and pulled the front door shut. "Let's go."

"You need me to get that?" Dean asked indicating the rear door while Sam switched the engine on and put the car in reverse.

"Nah I got it," Sam said his fingers gripping a lever on the right side of the steering wheel and squeezing tight sending the car shooting backwards and the rear door shutting under the force, with his left hand he turned the steering wheel sharply using a plastic outcropping mounted on the wheel which sent the car turning onto the road.

"Showoff," Dean muttered trudging over to where the Impala sat ready to follow his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

James Murphy had always been a believer in the Big Man. Irish Catholic parents - and that's real Irish, from the actual country, not the Irish where your great-great-great-grandpappy lived next to a guy who met an Irishman - raising him in the church. He'd had his crises of faith - particularly with the Catholic faith - more than he'd care to admit to. He'd watched fellow parishioners suffer needlessly in his youth, seen a classmate wither away before his eyes from disease and the thought that it was God's will didn't seem to justify the pain he saw good people go through.

At twenty-two years old, fresh from seminary school and serving his first ministry under the tutelage of Father Strachan he met his second calling as a hunter. A small, flame haired man with a bit of a napoleon complex and sharp wit Father Strachan had headed a tiny church in a small town in West Virginia. They ran services for the few religious folks left in the town, most too caught up in life to worry about existentialism and the afterlife.

But the bodies found, torn to shreds and mutilated beyond recognition brought the fear of God out in most and suddenly the tiny church was holding services for more than half the town and far too many funeral processions were walking the streets led by Strachan and Murphy.

The police warned of wild dogs and hungry bears, but there were whisperings of a much more human threat. Fingers started to point and when an entire family was reduced in one night to a pile of mismatched flesh and blood the odd and the anti-social were practically being lynched in their own backyards - when quiet and awkward Billy Hunter was found with a gunshot wound to the head everyone knew it hadn't been self inflicted but no one said anything. Father Strachan and Pastor Jim tried to appeal to their parishioners for sanity. In the matter of a week the body count was at eleven, and it stayed there for a while at least. For the rest of the month the town was in mourning, everyone knew everyone who had died. Local men started to patrol the streets at night, shotguns in hand ready to take down anything or anyone that was out of place.

All of the patrolmen were found early one morning ripped to shreds like the previous victims, not one shot had been fired.

More and more bodies made their way from the morgue to the chapel to be put to rest by Strachan and Murphy until one morning when Jim walked the short distance from his tiny single room home on the church grounds into the stone building. Opening the large wooden doors to the public for confession and solace he continued on to light a candle for the recently departed but he was stopped when he saw the remains, fresh and pooled in blood.

Strachan's form was barely recognisable but there was no way it could have been anyone else. Jim sucked in a deep breath of air and let it shakily out before he moved towards the gory sight, as he bent down and let his hand hover over the remains he whispered a prayer but midway through his hand was snatched back and he was yanked up.

"Don't touch the body," his eyes were ice blue but there was a fire behind them that had Jim peeling his hand carefully from the grip of the stranger and warily looking for an escape route.

"Did you do this?"

The stranger laughed mirthlessly shaking his head sending dark straggly locks flying. "I thought I'd put an end to this weeks ago."

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Who did this?" Jim couldn't stem the flow of questions spilling from his mouth.

"The name is Bonetti, I'm a hunter."

"So it was wild animals, like the police said?"

"I don't hunt what you would class as animals," Bonetti smirked and leant back, resting his weight on a pew as though there weren't human remains puddled around his feet. "I hunt things that normal people don't know how to deal with."

"Like what?"

"Karlulfur." Bonetti explained that it existed in Icelandic folklore, similar to the werewolf legend only that the beast transformed its human host nightly regardless of the lunar cycle and the host was completely unaware of their own nightly pursuits. Unlike the common werewolf myth, people did not turn after being bitten by one of the karlulfur, they tended to not leave someone they attack alive long enough to turn - it was unprotected contact with the remains that caused the real damage. Wave a hand too close to a body and next thing you know you're answering to Fido.

Bonetti held up a bullet to the young pastor. "Like all werewolves, the only way to kill them is with silver."

"You killed Billy didn't you," there wasn't a hint of question in Jim's words as he looked to the older man loading his gun with what he assumed must have been silver bullets. "He was the one that started this."

"Yes."

Four hours, eighteen phone calls, ten voice messages and zero response.

Sam followed the familiar back of the Impala through the rain as it turned into the parking lot of a roadside diner so like all those diners they'd dodged food poisoning from in their childhood - Sam was half convinced that they were immune to salmonella but he wasn't really willing to eat raw pancake batter to test the theory.

Pulling over next to where Dean had parked the Impala and was standing leaning against the black car in the wet weather Sam rolled down his window.

"What do you want?" Dean asked when he pushed off of the car nodding in the direction of the diner and leant down, arms resting on the open window frame.

"Decaf," Sam reached over to the glove box to get his wallet but Dean had already turned and started walking towards the diner muttering about him being a 'pussy, fucking decaf'.

Looking to the clock display on the dashboard Sam cringed, there was no way they were going to get to Blue Earth in time and judging by the lack of response from Pastor Jim, on both cell phone and landline it looked to be already too late.

Grabbing his phone from the passenger seat he dialled once again and listened to the ringing go on and on and then Jim's all too familiar voicemail message telling to leave a message after the- he hung up and dropped the phone into his lap.

"Fuck!" Sam exclaimed, hitting his fist against the steering wheel in frustration. What the hell were they going to do? It's not like they could just fly. Only they could, they totally could and why hadn't he though of that before?

They were a few hours out from Salt Lake City, they had to be able to get flights from there to at least Minneapolis or even better Rochester, a few miles from Blue Earth. It made sense, perfect sense. Grabbing the phone from his lap he flipped it open, this had to be possible.

Dean made his appearance a few minutes later, walking as quickly as he could while balancing styrofoam cups atop styrofoam boxes, his shoulders hunched as if that would give him protection from the rain beating down around him. He strolled past the Impala and rounded Sam's car to knock on the passenger side window. Taking his cue, Sam leant all the way over, unlocked and opened the door from the inside.

"Fucking miserable weather," Dean muttered as he sat and arranged everything he held. "Your fucking decaf shit."

Sam took the cup Dean had motioned to with is head and peeled off the lid to blow into the hot liquid. "Thanks."

Dean was too busy trying to open one of the boxes while still holding his own cup to acknowledge his brother with much more than a nod.

They sat in silence for a while, Sam sipping away at his coffee and Dean juggling between the boxes of sausages, bacon, hash browns and eggs along with his own coffee - a manly black coffee with a shitload of sugar.

Sam had his near empty cup stuffed between his legs, his fingers tapping out a tune on the steering wheel in front of him. After letting out a long breath he turned to look at his brother.

"Dean," the seriousness of Sam's voice had Dean halting his attack on . "There's a flight out of Salt Lake City to Minneapolis that will get us to Blue Earth before dinner."

"Fuck off Sam, there is no way we are flying anywhere come on!"

"Listen, it's gonna take at least another 24 hours to drive to Blue Earth, and that doesn't even include us stopping anywhere - which by the way I'm going to need to do. So why not just fly there? It'll take what an hour or two?"

"You're serious?" Dean held onto the styrofoam boxes that had he been back in the Impala he wouldn't have thought twice about throwing on the floor to clean out later.

"It could already be too late Dean!"

"And if it is then there's not much point in rushing now is there?" Dean winced at the shocked expression on Sam's face. "Sorry, sorry I didn't mean that but fuck! I really don't want to fly man."

"Why not?"

Dean looked at Sam like the answer should have been obvious. "Why the hell do you think I drive everywhere?"

"Because your can't take weapons on a plane?"

"Planes crash!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air but the movement unsettled the styrofoam castle he'd built on his lap and had to scramble to stop the boxes and cup from toppling over. "I can't Sammy, sorry but there will be no leaving of ground for me."

"Uh, incase you hadn't noticed cars crash too. For God's sake Dean you hunt ghosts, demons, fucking monsters and you are afraid to fly! Do you know how fucked up that is?"

"Well, at least I'm not afraid of clowns."

"Shut up Dean," the glare Sam sent Dean was not the first of it's kind and both doubted it would be the last. "Alright fine, why don't I fly and you drive?"

"You want to fly ahead?"

"We don't have much choice Dean."

"What are you gonna do about your car dude, you can't just leave it parked somewhere."

Sam looked around at the interior of the car before he returned his attention to Dean and shrugged. "I'll sell it."

"You'll sell it? Just like that, sell your car."

"Yeah Dean just like that, I don't have an unnatural attachment to my car." Sam gestured in the vague direction of where Dean's precious Impala sat.

"Are you saying our love is unnatural?"

"We've got what? Three hours until we get to Salt Lake City, I'm sure we can find a used car place that'll take it."

Dean switched from disbelieving to somewhere in the vicinity of accepting and looked around at the car from the inside. It wasn't an old car by any means and pretty spotless - hence his reticence in dumping his trash wherever he felt like. "It's kind of a nice car Sam, you sure?"

"Then I should get a lot of money for it." Sam shrugged again.

It had always been plainly obvious that cars were not Sam Winchester's thing. A car to him was just that; a car. It was not a thing of beauty, nor was it something to be loved and admired. It was something you put gas into to get places.

The car had been barely used when Sam bought it from a guy he'd met in rehab. Richard had been given the car as a graduation gift from his grandparents, rich WASPs who he only ever saw once a year when forced to play dutiful grandson at Christmas time. A week after receiving the gift he dove into the wrong end of a pool and found himself without the ability to use a car - or much else below his neck.

Both Richard and his parents had been happy to get money for the car but in comparison to what it was worth Sam bought it for next to nothing.

"You really want to do this?"

Sighing, Sam stared out at the rain. "I don't think we've got too many options here Dean."

"What are you gonna do when you get there?" Dean asked suddenly irritated with himself and the whole situation. Things just couldn't be simple in the wacky world of Winchester. "You said it yourself, you can't take weapons with you - you plan on talking this thing to death if it shows up?"

Sam looked to be contemplating Dean's words for a second then his face scrunched up in confusion and he turned his confused look to Dean. "Isn't that basically what an exorcism is?"

The entire drive into Salt Lake City Sam had been trying to make arrangements. With Sam securing a ticket on the next viable flight to Minneapolis, finding a used car dealership that would take the car - which as it turned out was quite difficult, who knew that no one would want a car with permanent hand controls? - and organising the rental of a car from Minneapolis that would get him to Blue Earth.

Dean had called Jim the entire way, praying he would pick up and he wouldn't have to let Sam out of his sight.

They had attracted some strange looks from passersby in the parking lot of Harry & Son's Used Car Lot as they scrambled between the two cars, dumping everything from Sam's into the Impala. When Dean had watched Sam disappear into the crowd at the airport he'd held only the bare essentials in a backpack slung over the back of his chair.

"Eight thousand dollars," Dean muttered as he peeled away from the sidewalk. "For a car. Two hundred for a flight to fucking Minnesota, one-hundred and fifty to rent a car. Saving the world? Priceless - because no one fucking pays us to do this shit."

Sleep. It was all he could think about, even as the numbers on the signs to Blue Earth decreased - 20km, 10km, 5km, 2km - he desperately wanted to take a moment, pause for just a few minutes and sleep. He'd tried on the plane, even with the roar of the engines and noise of the other passengers he had drifted somewhere close to sleep but every time he closed his eyes all he saw were flames. Flames and blood and Jess.

He couldn't think about sleep, he had to keep his head clear and focused.

The church Pastor Jim served and called home was on the outskirts of the town, secluded by a large expense of fields from the few clusters of houses that were built in part of an expansion of the town but it was still close to the main road.

There were three buildings in the lot, the main church building had been built in the 60's but it had been made to look much older as if someone had dropped an Irish chapel in the middle of Minnesota. There was a much newer building attached to one side of the old church used to house the youth programs run by the church. Then, set apart from the other two buildings a small structure barely more than a hut sat. It was used purely for storage, the basement of the church being used as a weapons cash unbeknownst to parishioners and the upper level of the church housing the Pastor himself.

Pulling up right in front of the main building Sam looked around, Jim's car was nowhere to be found. Sam threw open the door and wrestled his chair from the backseat, the unfamiliar car making it that much more difficult - he missed his own car already.

When he finally extracted himself and his chair from the car Sam looked around at the brown leaves littering the grass, the few leaves that still gripped precariously onto trees and thought back to his best memory of the place.

It had been summer then, his father had left him and Dean while he met up with Caleb for some hunt out in Wyoming. Remembered that he'd wanted to kill Dean after the first two days because all Dean could do was moan about being left behind like some dumb kid and he was nineteen for fucks sake. Dean learned to shut up and keep the grumbling to himself, while Pastor Jim had always been cool with them he sure was good at dolling out punishment - and for Dean this was helping out old Mrs Pelligrini, the interesting lady that played piano for the Sunday service and collected ferrets.

That had been the one and only time he'd felt like a normal kid on vacation, taking trips to the lake with kids in the church youth fellowship, watching his brother get frustrated by his inability to score with the 'Jesus freaks', camping out at night for fun and not through necessity, his first kiss with Sarah…Sarah Brand? Branden? Brander? Brandenburg? Whatever, he has to smile when he remembers Sarah, dumb as a box of rocks Sarah who would laugh at anything he said. Totally Dean's type but she seemed - much to Dean's despair - to only have eyes for the younger Winchester. Not that he'd been very interested, she was Dean's type through and through, and he quickly learned that what worked for Dean really didn't work for him. He briefly wondered if she still lived in Blue Earth, if she'd give him the time of day now.

Pushing up the ramp at the front entrance to the church Sam tried the door. Locked. He rattled it a few times just to make sure but it stayed frustratingly shut. "Great, come all this way and can't even get in the door."

"Excuse me Sir, can I help you?" An unfamiliar voice startled Sam, he turned quickly to see a woman a few years older standing on the sidewalk of the main road, hand resting on a baby carriage.

Sam gave her a wane smile and shook his head. "I'm just looking for the Pastor, been having trouble getting a hold of him."

"You know Pastor Jim?"

"Yeah old family friend, used to stay here a lot when I was a kid."

"Well I think he's away at Lake Imogene, there's a youth camp out there this weekend, probably setting it up."

"Yeah, probably," Sam smiled and looked to the sky a thought occurring to him, it was cool but that was pretty much par for the course in Blue Earth considering the time of year. "Hey," Sam turned his smile back to the woman gently pushing the stroller back and forth in front of her. "I just got into town, how's the weather been?"

"Actually really good," she answered smiling back. "not a spot of rain for weeks which is quite unusual but not unwelcome I'll tell you."

"Huh, cool. Thanks."

"Sadly I think we're overdue so I wouldn't be surprised if it started pouring just when those poor kids leave for camp, my little brother's going and I am not looking forward to hearing him bitch about it."

It was closing in on 7pm when Dean finally pulled over just outside Rawlins, WY to grab something edible or at least something that claimed to be edible. The weather was just as bad if not worse in Wyoming, trees on the roadside bending with the wind while being battered with rain. The diner's entrance seemed to far away in the rain, just far enough that by the time he reached it he would have to spend his entire meal sitting in a puddle.

Dean checked his phone before he braced himself for the elements. He'd been half expecting a call from his brother for a while, at least to check in but so far there had been nothing.

The area was still familiar as Sam drove in the direction of Lake Imogene, Blue Earth and the lakes surrounding the township had been one of the few stabilities in his and Dean's childhood. Between Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer they'd had at least two places to really call home. It had made Sam wonder on more than one occasion why his father had to drag them across the country, why they couldn't ever have a home base of their own instead of having new schools every few weeks or living out of a backpack and a crappy motel room.

Any time they'd been left with Jim it had been like being normal for however long they were there. They got to see normal kids, watch TV, go to the movies, read normal books. As good as Bobby was when they were left with him, it was painfully obvious that he had no idea what to do with kids. Dean was always happy with his head stuck in an engine or sneaking off into town to try and score as soon as he hit puberty where as Sam was left with books on demonic possession, learning latin and reading up on mythology that felt too much like work to be fun. Jim had always been the one to let him forget about hunting and be a real kid.

Turning off the main road Sam headed down a much smaller back road leading down to the lake and the cabins on the lakeshore that were used as bunkhouses. The road had certainly improved from the last time he'd been down it, it had gone from being barely above a dirt track to a properly cemented road, the fields on either side stretching on as far as he could see just like they always had until the dense forest took over.

It was like deja vu and Dean was about ready to lob his phone into the deep fat fryer that another batch of fries were being thrust into. Still no answer from Jim or Sam. With the way the weather seemed to be battling against him Dean was convinced he wouldn't get into Blue Earth until close to midday, that was including his prescheduled two hour nap which he planned to have in the backseat on top of all the crap from Sam's car.

Dean flicked the phone open and closed for a minute, staring out into the parking lot where raindrops pounded into the asphalt. His dinner had been peppered, like the rest of his day by phone calls to his brother and to all known numbers for Pastor Jim Murphy all to no avail. There was never an answer.

"That's it Sammy, time out's over," Dean flipped open the phone once again and dialled, he looked at the mess on his plate that had once been an interpretation of a cheeseburger while he listened to the ringing on his phone until it was eventually picked up. "Dad? I think Sam's in trouble."

There it was, the ancient white car parked close to the first cabin on the gravel. The car the Pastor had driven for as long as Sam had known him. Not nearly as well taken care of as the Impala, a means of transportation rather than the love of someones life, about the only original part of the car was the frame and even that was held together by painted over rust.

The gravel crunched loudly under the wheels as Sam pulled the car to a stop. The lake was still, it's glass like surface breaking only near the edge where gentle waves lapped at the gravel. It was peaceful, scarcely any sound bar the odd chirp from birds nesting in the trees that surrounded the idyllic setting.

He was just about to start his wrestling match with his chair when movement caught his eye, a figure emerged from the tree line carrying an armful of wood which was quickly dumped on another pile on the far side of the furthest cabin. Sensing another's presence the figure looked around, catching sight of the unfamiliar car but the Sam the figure was not unfamiliar.

"Jim!" Sam yelled, having quickly rolled down the window.

The pastor started walked towards the parked car, confusion marring his face while he attempted to dust off the dirt from his hands on his pants. "Sam?"

1. I flubbed my way through the prices of things (not entirely true I did a little research, I checked how much a Mazda RX8 2004 cost used in the UK - thank you autotrader, I checked how much a flight today would cost from Salt Lake City to Minneapolis - then made it up because $700 is a bit ridiculous, and I checked how much it would be to rent a car from Avis - I hope all American's know they are getting ripped off on everything - seriously, the distance is about the same as me driving from Edinburgh to Madrid - which to fly in November - when this is based - is £30).

2. As with all original characters 'Richard' is loosely based on a footballing personality - I changed his name slightly to the English spelling but he did dive into the shallow end of a pool and break his neck. Ricardo Izecson dos Santos Leite did however recover, and has done quite well for himself - he is more widely known as Kaká.

3. Finally, I am very sorry for how long this took - writers block is a bitch along with lots of distractions - blame my first love, football.


End file.
